To Know
by mildswearingat4am
Summary: What would have happened if Cat had been a bit more observant in the Evillustrator and a lot more curious about a certain plucky classmate? Puns, banter, and bonding over unrequited love, of course—and maybe a new romance, too.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello!** **I just started watching the show (I don't own it or the characters, obviously—I'm supposed to mention that somewhere, right?) and I haven't totally gotten caught up yet, so feel free to make suggestions if something seems weird or out of character or if I get the lingo wrong.**

 **Here goes nothing. Hope you like it!**

* * *

If he had turned around a fraction of a second later, he would have missed it—and he was still half-convinced he'd imagined the whole thing. She'd been all giggles and coy smiles up until that moment, looking at him with shining eyes like the Cat Noir fangirl everyone in school had pegged her as.

Then he'd glanced over his shoulder, trying to gauge her reaction after some flirtatious comment made to make her night, and caught her rolling her eyes.

It must have been a trick of the light. He turned again with a dramatic flourish, promising no harm would come to his princess and even throwing in a little flexing for good measure, then surreptitiously peeked over his shoulder—and saw her snapping her hand open and shut in the universal gesture for _blah, blah, blah,_ utterly unimpressed _._

He whirled around; she smiled blandly, the picture of admiration.

Now he was _really_ confused. No one could resist Cat Noir—well, Ladybug, but he preferred not to think about that—and _Marinette_ of all people should have been the easiest target in the world. Sure, he didn't know her too well, but everything he did know spoke of kindness and innocence. Whenever he saw her, she was either blushing, about to blush, or just recovering from one and still slightly pink. Besides, she was a fangirl—she had to be, the way she jumped to Cat Noir's defense in a heartbeat (even when he himself thought he didn't deserve it) and pointedly corrected anyone who called him a sidekick.

And maybe it had always made him feel a little warm inside, knowing he had such a loyal ally sitting in the desk right behind his.

But here she was, standing before her supposed idol—a not unattractive boy in a skintight cat suit who was shamelessly flirting with her—and rolling her eyes without a trace of a blush on her cheeks. And that sparkle in her eyes? Adoration? Yeah, right. She was totally laughing at him, and he had no idea what to make of it.

The biggest shock, though, came as he was leaping away with his usual catlike agility. He took a moment to glance back over one shoulder one last time and tripped over his own feet, nearly skidding off the edge of a roof.

She'd dropped the act completely and was doubled over, completely red-faced and shaking with mirth. The sight nearly made him fall flat on his face in shock. Sweet little Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the girl who was so shy she could barely string two words together without stammering, was laughing at him so hard she could barely breathe.

It's not like his pride was hurt or anything. He was just…curious.

She probably liked that boy who had been akumatized, he decided later, watching their evening pseudo-date from the shadows with more attentiveness than was really necessary—to make sure she was safe, like he promised. No other reason. She certainly seemed to be having a good time, and other guy was clearly head-over-heels for her.

It bothered him, for some reason. Wasn't she supposed to be _his_ fan? Besides, he'd never noticed anything between her and that guy in class. Though, to be fair, it had never occurred to him to look. He'd always thought Marinette was bad with boys, seeing as she always got so nervous whenever Adrien gave her so much as a friendly greeting.

As it turned out, there were a lot of things he didn't know about Marinette. He hadn't known she was brave enough to spend the evening with an akuma, or resourceful enough to get them out of the Evillustrator's trap almost as fast as Ladybug would have. He wouldn't have thought that after a near-death experience like that, she'd still be hiding a snort at his attempts to impress her, quipping about doing his job for him when she thought he was too far away to hear.

But the next day in school, when he caught her at her locker and asked a few innocent questions about her night with Cat Noir, she seemed like same old Marinette: shy, stammering, her face going pinker by the second as a stream of high-speed word vomit poured from her lips.

But then what was with the other night? The eye-rolling? The laughter? What the heck was going on inside this girl's head?

Maybe he didn't know Marinette, but he was starting to think he wanted to.

…

Cat Noir peered out from his perch on a rooftop opposite a certain classmate's terrace, trying to fight the growing conviction that this had been a terrible idea.

He'd started to realize it as he'd bounded across the rooftops in the direction of her family's bakery, but then he'd been distracted by the sheer joy of soaring through the air, launching himself into the evening sky as if he were trying to pounce on the stars. He loved that. It felt like pure freedom, like flying, and god he loved it almost as much as he loved his lady.

But the sudden stillness and quiet as he sat outside Marinette's house had all of his doubts rushing back like a tidal wave. He'd come up with a story to justify his visit to her, and Plagg had been won over through cheesy bribery, but he still couldn't quite explain to himself just what the heck he thought he was doing. And he had _no_ clue how he'd explain it if he ran into Ladybug.

He cringed. Crap, she'd skin him alive if she ever found out about this—this blatant misuse of superpowers. And if she murdered him now, he could kiss the dream of spending their post-superhero lives together goodbye: no dating through college, no house in the suburbs, and certainly no kids who were all every bit as beautiful as her but would never, ever, ever have to model— _ever_.

 _You're being stupid_ , Plagg whined, his voice seeing to echo in Cat's head and from his ring at the same time: annoyance in stereo sound. _Go and embarrass yourself already so we can go home._

"I'm not going to embarrass myself," he mumbled. But it was less a statement of fact and more of a prayer.

 _Whatever. Quit stalling._

He was about to reply, but all of a sudden the light in Marinette's room flicked on and she strolled into the room. She paused only for a moment to sling her pink messenger bag over the back of her desk chair, then made a beeline for her terrace.

Panic gripped him. In just a second she would see him sitting there and waiting like some kind of creep and this really had been a stupid idea and maybe if he hurried he could leave before—

"Cat Noir?"

Well, so much for that.

Reluctantly, he leapt and landed with graceful precision on the railing of her terrace—thank god for small miracles—and flashed her a smirk, which she did not return. She seemed almost frozen, knuckles white on the handle of the watering can she was clutching: she'd come up to water her plants, it seemed.

"Wha—" she began, then swallowed hard. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking up on you, Princess," he purred. "After that nasty business with the akuma the other day, I mean." He could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as he spoke, slipping back into a more carefree, Cat-like mindset with each word. Adrien would still have been an awkward mess, but Cat Noir always had something to say. That was why he loved being him so much—well, that and the rooftop travel. And the do-gooding, obviously. And Ladybug.

Marinette seemed to relax slightly at his words. She set the watering can down and folded her arms, leaning against the railing behind her. "That's so thoughtful, Cat Noir!" she said, the cheer in her voice totally at odds with her still-wary expression. "Did you really make a special trip just to see me? Or are you patrolling?" Her tone shifted suddenly, becoming more pointed. "Where's Ladybug? I wouldn't want you to keep her waiting."

He squirmed. "Nah, Princess, it's a solo _paw_ -trol tonight."

He could have sworn he saw her wince. "Nice pun," she told him, forcing out a giggle.

He pretended to puff up at the praise, which brought a small, real smile to her face. Was that why she was pretending? Was she just too polite to tell him what she was actually thinking? But that wouldn't really explain how she'd acted during the Evillustator incident, and she'd never had a problem telling off Chloe in school.

"So, anyway," he said, "I was just passing by and I thought you might want to talk about the whole akuma date with someone. Must have been weird for you."

"Nah, I'm fine," she replied, her answer coming just a little too quickly to sound natural.

"Are you sure?" He studied her carefully. It wasn't that he doubted her toughness—she'd definitely proven herself in that respect—but still…. "You don't have to hide it. I mean, you've probably never had to deal with that kind of thing before, and it _was_ pretty dangerous, so it'd be totally understandable if—"

Marinette let out a loud snort and hastily clapped a hand over her mouth. It couldn't quite hide her grin, though, nor did it completely muffle her giggles.

"Uh, Princess?" he asked. He went over his words again in his head, trying to tease out whatever hidden joke she'd heard. Had he made an accidental pun or something?

"Sorry," Marinette said finally, hooking both thumbs in her pants pockets with a smile still playing around her lips. "But honestly, I'm fine. It wasn't really that weird for me." She stiffened. "I mean, because it was my classmate! I knew he wasn't really evil, and he didn't seem like he wanted to hurt me anyway, so yeah. It wasn't so bad."

"Glad to hear it." And he was, even if she'd effectively destroyed his reason for being there. He racked his brain for something else to discuss. "Is… do you know how Na- the kid from that day is doing?"

She nodded, smiling again. ""He's okay. We've been talking more since then, and I think he's handling things pretty well, considering he got turned into a supervillain for a while."

"Really? That's, uh, good." He shouldn't be so surprised. There might be a lot of things he didn't know about this girl, but one thing he knew for sure was that she was incredibly, ridiculously nice.

"Is that all?" Marinette asked, and he jumped. He still hadn't learned anything about her or why she seemed to have so many different personalities, and she was already shooing him away? This was not going the way he'd thought it would.

Plagg was laughing at him in his head, but he tried his best to tune that out, eyes searching the stars above their heads for something to say. All he came up with was, "Uh."

"What? Cat got your tongue?"

His head snapped back down; her eyes widened as she realized what she'd just said.

"Something like that, Princess," he purred, a smug smile spreading across his face. She coughed and hastily bent down to snatch up her watering can again.

"Anyway! Um. I've got some, uh, plant stuff to do, and—math! Right. There's this math homework I have to finish, so…."

He knew for a fact she'd finished that night's assignment during the class—had heard her announcing it to Alya loud and clear. She sat right behind him, after all.

"I might be able to help you with that," he offered. "I'm pretty _sharp._ " He held up and clawed hand and winked. She cringed, chuckling weakly.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," she mumbled.

"No trouble," he replied smoothly, watching in delight as she grew visibly flustered. He was about to insist again just to see if he could make her come clean about the fib, but Plagg chose that moment to butt in.

 _Time to go, kid. You're supposed to be up early for that tutoring thing tomorrow, and I am not dragging your butt out of bed when you sleep through the alarm._

He checked his ring and frowned; the kwami was right, even if his timing sucked. He'd been so close to getting somewhere with this girl, too.

"Well, I better get going. Duty calls, and all that," he said with a wink.

Marinette's shoulders sagged. "Oh! I mean, that's too bad," she said, not even bothering to act upset. Me- _ouch_. "See you around, Cat Noir!"

"Yeah." His expression, dangerously close to slipping into a pout, suddenly brightened with wicked intent. "I'll see you around… _Purr-_ incess," he said, smirking as her expression went from confusion to comprehension to horror. With one powerful leap he sprang into motion, speeding away across the rooftops before she could say anything in reply.

When he looked back this time, her hand was pressed against her forehead, face almost pained. With his exceptional hearing, he was almost certain he caught a low groan.

He laughed, already wondering how soon he could find enough time (and cheese) to drop by Marinette's terrace again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Hello, readers! Wow, I have readers. That is both awesome and slightly terrifying.**

 **Before we get to the good stuff, here are some basic things you should know about this story. First, we're going to be switching perspectives every chapter—this one is from Marinette's POV, the next will be from Cat's POV, and so on throughout. Second, I unfortunately can't promise super regular updates on this, since school is especially sucky this semester—plus, although the story's pretty much planned out, it is not actually written right now. So that'll take some time. Third, there should be about twelve chapters total when I'm finished, and I** ** _can_** **promise that I'm going to finish this thing. Not sure how or when, but I'll make it work.**

 **And finally, comments, criticisms, and suggestions are always welcome!**

 **I don't own these characters, of course. I just think they're adorable and need to get together.**

 **And now, the chapter.**

* * *

There was a black cat waiting for her outside in the twilight, leaning against the terrace railing in a too-casual slouch—the same position he'd been waiting in yesterday night. And the night before. And the night before _that_. His first visit had been about a week ago, and he'd been coming back to her terrace every night since.

Every. Single. Night.

Marinette held in a sigh and said a quick prayer for patience as she went out to meet him, wondering where all of her supposed luck had gone.

He straightened as she stepped out onto the terrace, mischief glinting in his eyes. "Hey, _Purr-_ incess."

Her eye twitched. An annoying nickname she could handle, but dear _god_ why did it have to be a pun?

"Hello _again_ , Cat Noir," she said, attempting a light giggle as she fumed inside.

"You look _paw_ -sitively lovely tonight," he purred. "Simply _cat-_ tivating."

She glanced down at her flannel pjs and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Apparently her ridiculous partner really did flirt with anything that moved. It'd been funny the first time he'd pulled this crap on her as Marinette—a change of pace from being romanced while she was on the job—but the novelty had long since worn off.

"You're too kind, Cat Noir," she replied, folding her arms. The nights were starting to get chilly, though it never seemed to bother Cat much. "Really."

"What, you don't believe me? You think I'd lie to you?" He put a hand to his heart, cat ears and tail drooping in mock distress. If she were Ladybug, she'd call him out on it in a heartbeat.

"Of course not, Cat Noir," Marinette said, voice monotone despite her best efforts. "I wasn't thinking that at all."

The whole thing was just so unfair. Why didn't she get to wear her mask, too? She wouldn't have to act then, and maybe they'd be able to have an actual conversation. Not like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this between them, unnatural and forced and _wrong,_ and it made her want to hit something. He was her partner, for crying out loud—her best non-Alya friend and maybe the only person she'd trust with her life. She shouldn't have to fake-smile at his dorky puns and act all polite around him when all she wanted to do was roll her eyes.

"Sorry, what?" she mumbled, realizing she'd zoned out while Cat was talking.

"Just asking if you needed any homework help tonight." He gave her an exaggerated wink and she flushed, remembering the pitiful lie from his first visit.

"No, not today," she replied.

"You sure? I'm a very _claw_ -ver cat, you know." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she forced yet another laugh.

Honestly, her vapid giggles were starting to get on her own nerves. How was Cat stomaching this? Why was he coming back night after night for more?

She'd been sure her cover was blown when he'd first shown up with some lame excuse about checking up on her; the very idea had nearly had her hyperventilating. But his little evening visit hadn't been about her being Ladybug, much to her relief.

Actually, she still wasn't sure why he'd stopped by. Or why he kept coming around—on nights when there were no akuma attacks and no patrols scheduled, she might add. They'd been given powers for a reason, and bothering random girls was not it. Even overlooking the irresponsibility factor, couldn't Cat go bother someone else? Didn't he have anyone else to bother?

Maybe not. Maybe, in his own ridiculous, flirty way, Cat Noir was trying to make a friend.

A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips, and she huffed in amusement. Her partner could be such a silly kitty sometimes.

"What's on your mind, _Purr_ -incess _?_ " he asked, and she jumped. "You're _paw_ -fully distracted tonight."

Again with the puns. She was nearly shaking with the urge to fire off a sarcastic retort.

"N-nothing! Just… tired. Yeah, super tired," she lied.

Was she being too paranoid? Heck, Alya had made it her life's work to unmask Ladybug and had never even looked twice at her clumsy friend. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was too awkward, too shy, too ordinary to be a hero; surely Cat Noir wouldn't suspect if she let just a little sarcasm out? Just enough to keep her sanity intact?

But puns aside, Cat _was_ pretty smart, and if she started bantering and teasing him like only Ladybug would….

"Been staying up late, eh?" Cat smirked. "Just what have you been up to?"

 _Talking to you, dummy,_ she thought. She almost said it, too, but stopped herself at the last second. It wasn't true, anyway; his visits always ended before she usually went to bed, and some nights they only lasted five or so minutes before he went bounding off with a vague excuse about having work to do.

"I… things," she muttered, wincing at her own lack of imagination.

"Things?" Cat purred. "That's a _claw_ -fully _mew_ -sterious answer."

She could do this. She could smile and nod and _not_ banter and keep her secret identity safe. No problem. She'd survived the past week, hadn't she? What was one more day?

"What kinds of 'things' are _mew_ talking about, exactly?"

Her eye started twitching.

"Is it a secret? I _purr_ -omise I won't tell."

She could do this. _She could do this._

" _Paw_ -lese? I'm _fur_ -y curious."

Twitch.

"And you know what they say about curiosity and cats, _Purr-_ incess—"

Just like that, a wave of complete calm flooded her.

She exhaled slowly and bent down to pick up her pink polka-dot watering can, barely feeling the chill of the metal pressed against her skin. It had been getting pretty cold outside lately, after all.

" _Purr_ -incess?" Cat said, hesitant now. "Are you okay?"

She adjusted her stance and lifted her head to look him right in the eye. And then, with the sweetest smile she could muster, Marinette took aim and flung the can's contents all over her unsuspecting partner.

He jumped a mile with a yelp that sounded suspiciously like a _mrow,_ spluttering incoherently and flapping his arms in a futile attempt to shake off the water. "What the—what was that for?" he demanded.

Her smile grew as her gaze turned steely. "Because you need to _cool it_ with the cat puns."

He stared at her with wide green eyes, dripping wet and bewildered.

 _Finally,_ she wanted to sing. She'd _finally_ gotten back at him for all those stupid puns. Though, really, it wasn't the wordplay she minded so much as having to sit and take it without fighting back. _That_ had been the worst. But they were definitely even now, so everything was as it should be. All was right with the world.

Her euphoria faded a moment later as the reality of what she'd done hit her.

She'd soaked him. As Marinette. She'd dumped cold water all over one of the heroes of Paris _as Marinette_ and thrown out a superhero-style quip to boot and he was still staring at her and she didn't know what to do and oh god. _Oh god._

So much for acting like a normal girl.

"I'm so sorry, I don't—I just—let me get a towel," she stammered, beating a hasty retreat while Cat stood there, blinking.

What had she been _thinking_?

She dashed through her room and into her bathroom to retrieve a towel, moving nearly as fast as she did when she was transformed, and grabbed the first dry one she saw. She paused by her desk on the way back, the fluffy pink bundle gathered in her arms, and reached out awkwardly to run her fingers over one of the pictures tacked to the wall. She could feel her heartrate slowing as she admired Adrien's confident smile and glorious face. It was almost like he was cheering her on: _You can do it, Marinette!_

"Marinette?" came a voice from her bed, making her jump and whirl around. Tikki was curled up on one of the pillows with a cookie, gazing at her curiously.

"Sorry, no time to talk," she whispered. "Cat's outside."

"I know," Tikki said, pushing her snack aside and sitting up. "Why do you have a towel?"

Marinette went pink. "Stay here, okay?" she mumbled, rushing back out to the terrace.

Cat was staring off into the distance, still looking a little dazed. He turned around as she approached and opened his mouth, but she spoke before he could say anything.

"I'm really, _really_ sorry," she told him, red-faced but still managing to meet his gaze. She held out the towel like a peace offering.

He accepted it and slung it over his shoulders, eyeing her warily. But, slowly, a little smile began to form on his face. He started to chuckle, and then laughed outright.

She stared at him like he'd been akumatized.

"You're full of surprises, Marinette," he said, grinning at her. He pulled the towel up to dry off his hair. "I should've known by now."

Now it was her turn to blink stupidly.

"Are you… happy? That I dumped water on you?" she asked, baffled. But Cat's smile was even more infectious than his puns; she found herself giggling, too, albeit a bit hysterically. "Aren't cats supposed to hate water?"

"Only house cats," he told her haughtily. "Ever seen a tiger in a swimming pool? What about a jaguar? Big cats aren't scared of a little water."

" _Big cat_ ," she snorted. "If anything, you're a stray kitten."

"Am not," he said.

"Are too!"

"Okay, _now_ I'm mad," he announced, glaring at her. She glared right back, scrunching up her nose and squinting hard.

A second or so passed, and then they were laughing again.

Marinette wiped at her eyes, feeling happier she had all week. He wasn't upset, and they were bantering and teasing each other and it felt incredible. Forget acting like some boring Cat Noir fangirl: _This_ was how things were supposed to be between her and her partner.

Not that he knew they were partners. But still.

"Seriously," Cat said, draping the towel over the railing behind him and turning to face her, "why didn't you just tell me you don't like puns?"

She froze, remembering all at once why she'd been putting on an act. This was dangerous territory they were getting into, and she couldn't exactly tell him the truth.

"It's not like I _hate_ them—" she began, stopping when she saw the incredulous expression on Cat's face. Time to try a different approach. "Look, I was trying to be polite. You're a famous superhero, in case you hadn't noticed! It's kind of a big deal! And I'm just—me."

"It's not _that_ big a deal," he said, shaking his head. "Ladybug's the one who saves Paris."

"With your help," Marinette countered. She didn't like that sad little half-smile he was wearing. "She couldn't do it without you."

"It's nice of you to say so."

What was with him? "I'm not just being nice," she insisted, wondering how she could prove it short of transforming on the spot and reminding him how much she relied on him.

"Well, maybe not," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, rudely _cat_ -ttacking me while I was minding my own business wasn't very nice of you."

She sort of wanted keep talking about it until she knew he was convinced, but he obviously wanted to change the subject. She decided to revisit the issue later on one of their patrols.

"I thought you weren't scared of water, Mr. Big Cat?" she teased.

"I'm not," he replied loftily. "But it still was not _nice_."

"No it wasn't," she conceded, smiling, "but I already said I was sorry. What more do you want from me, Cat Noir?"

He started to speak and then paused, considering something.

"Cat?" she said. "What is it?"

"Can I come over again tomorrow?"

She blinked, then cocked her head. "I figured you would just keep showing up whether I liked it or not."

"I could do that," he agreed. He waited, looking at her expectantly.

She would have to be stupid to agree. One wrong move or careless comment from her—as Marinette or as Ladybug—and the whole thing would come crashing down around her ears. It would take nothing short of a miracle to keep her identity a secret if he kept spending so much time with her.

But... what if Cat really didn't have anyone else to bother? It seemed like the only explanation for why he kept coming to visit her. What if he really needed a friend?

Cat shifted nervously in front of her, fiddling with the end of his tail.

She didn't know what was going on in her partner's personal life. She did know, however, that this was a terrible, horrible, truly awful idea. And she knew what she had to do.

"Of course you can, kitty," she told him.

It was worth whatever difficulties she might have to see his face light up at her words.

"Really?" he asked, bouncing up and down on his heels. "Awesome—I mean, _claw_ -some—sorry, habit, I meant—" He stopped suddenly, cat ears pricked as if listening to something she couldn't hear. "Really?" he muttered. "Yeah, I remember the appointment. What are you, my secretary?" Cat winced. "Okay, okay, _thank you_. You're no one's secretary. Happy?"

Kwami drama, she guessed. "What's up?"

He looked back at her and put on a smirk, though he still seemed somewhat annoyed. "Looks like I've got to get going, _Purr —_ "

"If you say 'Purr-incess' one more time I'm taking back the offer," she warned. But it was a bluff and they both knew it.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, scrambling onto the railing and flicking his tail at her. He looked back over his shoulder, his smirk growing into a full-fledged grin. "See you tomorrow… _Princess_."

With that, he sprang onto the neighbor's roof and leapt away, vanishing into the night before she could say a word. She stared after him for a moment, open-mouthed, not sure whether she wanted to yell or just bang her head on the nearest wall.

 _At least it's not a pun,_ she finally thought, shaking her head and sighing. _Silly kitty._

She retrieved the watering can and towel and left the terrace, trying not to think too much about what she'd just gotten herself into.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Aaaaannnd we have an update! Ugh. My break only ended a week ago and I already need another one. Thanks for waiting, readers. As always, comments and suggestions are welcome.**

 **To those who reviewed: You guys are awesome. Seriously, thank you. Reviews make me flail a little and smile a lot and I'm so glad you took the time to write 'em.**

 **I still don't own these characters, by the way.**

 **And now, the chapter.**

* * *

He hadn't thought it would be so addictive.

Nearly a month had passed since he'd gotten Marinette's permission to visit her, and he'd been transforming and sneaking out to meet her almost every night since. He was coming over so often that she was probably getting sick of him—though she hadn't soaked him since that first week, which seemed like a good sign.

He knew visiting that often was kind of a terrible idea. He was usually up until after midnight afterward trying to get all of his homework done, and satisfying Plagg's ever-increasing demands for cheese was burning through his savings. Even so, her terrace was quickly becoming his new favorite place and matching wits with her his new favorite pastime.

Besides spending time with Ladybug, he meant.

Still, hanging out with Marinette was different than working with his lady. On the terrace, he could be as punny and flirtatious and ridiculous as he wanted and get shot down a thousand times in one night and _it didn't hurt._ Not like when Ladybug was the one pulling the trigger. With Marinette, it was just fun.

So he didn't really need sleep. He could always earn more money. And who cared if he would never be able to get the stench of cheese out of his nose? It was more than worth it.

Even if he did feel like he was going to pass out at his desk from exhaustion.

"Yo! Adrien! You in there, man?"

He blinked at the hand currently being waved in front of his face. "Huh?"

"Dude, what is with you these days?" Nino asked, withdrawing his hand and slouching back in his chair with a frown.

"Nothing," he said.

"Nothing," his friend repeated, unconvinced. "So you're totally out of it, you look like crap, and we haven't hung out in forever, and _nothing_ is going on."

Adrien winced. "Sorry. It's—I've had to work." Which was true. Sort of. He'd had a lot of photo shoots lately, which certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Is your old man working you too hard?" Nino asked, his brow furrowing. "Should I—"

"No, it's okay," Adrien said quickly. The last time his friend tried to change his father's mind about something, it had ended in bubbles and disaster. "It's not that bad, it's just—I don't know." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired."

"Catch some Z's in class, then," Nino said, suspicion giving way to sympathy. "I've done it. The teachers didn't mind."

Adrien snorted, glancing sideways at his friend. "The way I remember it, they definitely minded."

"Didn't seem that way to me."

"Probably because you were _asleep."_

Nino grinned and laced his fingers behind his head. "And they didn't wake me up, so they must've been cool with it." He paused, smile fading a little. "But seriously, man, you've got to take care of yourself. I'll take notes for you if you want."

"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks," he replied, feeling a little guilty. With his rotten luck, it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd ever found such an awesome friend—and he _had_ sort of been giving him the cold shoulder lately. But it wasn't like he was _trying_ to avoid Nino. He could only sneak out at night as Cat Noir; even if could find some excuse to pay his friend a visit, he would still think Adrien was ignoring him. It wouldn't help at all.

Knowing that didn't make him feel any better, though.

"Don't mention it," Nino said. He cast a bored glance around the classroom and straightened suddenly as his gaze fell on the door, hands flying up to adjust the headphones hanging around his neck.

"Alya! Marinette!" he called. "What's up?"

Adrien sat up and followed his gaze. Alya and Marinette had just walked in and seemed to be deep in conversation: Marinette was, as usual, bright red, and Alya was wearing a grin that could only be described as wicked.

"'Morning, Nino," Alya called, nodded at the two of them. "Hey, Adrien." The blogger nudged her friend, grin widening; Marinette somehow managed to get even redder.

Nino twisted in his chair as the girls made their way to their seats. "So, how's it going?"

"Not bad," Alya replied. "I've been working on this new theory about Ladybug and I think I'm really onto something—"

Nino cut her off with a loud groan. "It's too early in the day for conspiracy theories. Save it for your blog."

She raised an eyebrow. " _You_ save it. I know you read the Ladyblog."

"That thing?" He smirked. "Nah."

"Don't even try to pull that, we all heard you talking about last week's post in class. You totally read it!"

"Just let it go, dude."

"Pretty sure I'm not a dude."

"You're an honorary dude."

"Wow. I feel so honored right now."

They seemed to have forgotten that he and Marinette were still sitting right there.

Marinette seemed to have calmed down; her blush had faded, and she was watching their friends bicker with a little knowing smile on her face. He decided now was as good a time as any to try once more.

"Hi, Marinette."

The effect was instantaneous: Red exploded across her face again, and her gaze immediately shot to her shoes.

The other night, she'd teased him mercilessly for overshooting the terrace railing and landing in an awkward heap at her feet. Now she couldn't even look him in the eyes.

"Marinette?" he prompted.

"Hi!" she finally squeaked. "I mean, good afternoon—wait, no, morning, I meant good morning, I—um. Hi."

"Hi," he repeated, smiling encouragingly.

She held his gaze for a fraction of a second, a deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes, then hastily ducked her head.

It was yet another mystery he'd discovered as he started getting to know Marinette: she couldn't talk to him. Why, he had no idea, but now that he'd started paying more attention to her, it was painfully obvious.

He had noticed her acting weird around him a few times in the past, but he;d always assumed it was just general shyness. He never would have guessed that _he_ was the cause. But over the past few weeks, he'd seen her argue with Nino and chat with Nathanael and talk to basically everyone else in the class without a problem. And she was perfectly comfortable with poking fun at Cat Noir.

Marinette wasn't shy, and she wasn't bad with boys. She just couldn't talk to Adrien Agreste.

It was hard enough to sit right in front of her and act like nothing had changed between them; her baffling inability to hold a conversation with him only made the situation a thousand times more frustrating. Why were things so different when he was Adrien? Why couldn't she see he was the same person she'd been joking around with just last night?

He couldn't blame her for not recognizing him—not really. That was how secret identities worked.

Still, he couldn't help wondering what she'd do if he called her "Princess" now.

…

"Are you sure we can't go inside?" Cat Noir whined, shivering under the fluffy pink blanket he and Marinette were huddled under. The temperature hadn't dropped as much as the forecast had predicted, but wind was bitterly cold and a blanket could only do so much. They were sitting out on the terrace as usual, watching a hilariously crappy old horror movie on the tiny screen of Marinette's phone.

Well, half-watching—mostly they were just talking. And arguing about her ridiculous "no Cats in my room" rule.

"And what if my parents came in?" she retorted, snagging another cookie from the bowl nestled between them and pulling her end of the blanket tighter around her. She waved a hand to indicate their little set-up and raised her eyebrows. "Do you have an explanation for this?"

"Movie night with Paris's favorite superhero?" he quipped, earning him a sharp elbow to the side.

"Be serious," she said. "Maybe it wouldn't matter to _you_ , but _I_ live here. I'd have to deal with them! They'd think I was getting involved in dangerous hero stuff or that we're secretly _dating_ or something weird like that and Mom would freak and Dad would be all disappointed I didn't tell them even though there's literally nothing to tell and then they'd lecture me and ground me for all of eternity and my life would be _over_!" She finished the rant with a dramatic sweep of her hand that nearly smacked him in the nose.

He pushed her arm back down with a smirk. "You have a very active imagination, Princess. Anyone ever told you that?"

"It's not a joke, Cat! It would be a total disaster."

"You mean a _cat_ -tastrophe?"

She elbowed him again.

 _"Ow,"_ he grumbled. "I still don't see why we can't go in. It wouldn't be any better if your parents found us up here, right?"

"It's better because they _won't,"_ she told him. "I have the door to my room closed, which'll buy us a couple seconds—they're usually really good about knocking—and I 'left' a pile of books on top of the trapdoor, so they'll tumble when it opens and give us a warning. If they look in and don't see me, their first reaction will be to call for me, which'll act as a backup warning. Then I can run back in to distract them while you jump to the neighbor's roof or something and get away—I can tell them I was sketching up here again, they're used to me being all weird about artsy stuff, and it'll all be okay. And that," she finished, snagging another cookie and cranking the phone's volume up a few notches, "is why the terrace is better."

He gaped at her.

"Now shush, kitty, we're missing the best part!"

He fell silent, still watching Marinette warily out of the corner of his eye. He'd known she had an eye for detail—the quality of her designs was proof of that—but he hadn't realized just how clever she was. Her plan almost reminded him of one of Ladybug's: simple and complicated all at once.

And this was the same girl who had randomly watered him like a flower and still went pink every time he brought it up.

How was it he was learning more and more about her and only getting more confused?

Maybe it would make more sense once he'd had a proper night's sleep; his brain was not working too well at the moment. He exhaled and leaned back, feeling the terrace railing press against his back through the blanket, and let his eyes close for a moment. Just a moment, and then he would feel better. Just a little while...

"Cat?"

His head jerked up. "Huh?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?" She glanced over and saw the answer in his puzzled expression. "You've been spacing out a lot. Are you okay?"

"Just cold and tired," he mumbled, swallowing a yawn.

She didn't reply for a while, instead scrutinizing him with a thoughtful frown. Then she moved the cookie bowl off to the side and started to shifted to sit closer to him, pulling the blanket around them as she went.

"Uh, what are you—"

"It's warmer this way," she said simply.

"Oh," he said, blinking. As she busied herself trying to position the blanket to keep out the worst of the wind, he was keenly aware of her shoulder and side pressing against his. It was kind of awkward, being so close. But she was right—it had definitely gotten warmer.

"Better?" she asked, tucking in the last corner.

"Better," he agreed, burrowing deeper into their blanket cocoon. His eyelids were already starting to droop again, but he wrenched them open again. He had to stay awake. If he fell asleep here and ran out of time—

 _Calm down,_ Plagg told him. _Nothing wrong with a little catnap. I'll let you know if you oversleep-but just this once, you hear? I am not your alarm clock._

Cat smiled. That was about as close as his kwami ever got to admitting that he cared.

Suddenly, all the fatigue from his late nights seemed to hit him at once, and keeping his eyes open became impossible. He heard Marinette mute the movie and thought he heard her say something, too, but by then he was already too far gone.

He woke from his much-needed nap with his head was resting on Marinette's shoulder, feeling better than he had in weeks.

"Are you up?" she asked.

"I'm up," he yawned, sitting up and looking around. "Whatimeizzit?"

"Nearly midnight," she said, chuckling a little. "You really were tired, kitty."

Midnight—that wasn't too bad. He'd been briefed about his upcoming work schedule before he left, so no one should have noticed his absence, and he had more than enough time left on his transformation to get back.

"Hey, Cat."

"Yeah?"

"Why were you tired enough to crash on my roof?"

He stiffened, his still-groggy brain working frantically to decide how to answer. If he made it sound like his visits were the problem she'd tell him to stop coming, right? He didn't want that. He cleared his throat. "I've… had a lot of things to do. Plus homework. It takes up a lot of time, and I guess I haven't been sleeping that much."

"Oh," she said. Her tone made it pretty clear she'd heard what he was trying so hard not to say.

He carefully avoided her eyes. She was going to tell him to stop coming over. He was sure of it. The dread was already settling in his stomach as he awaited the inevitable.

"You can bring your homework over here. If you want, I mean."

His cat ears pricked up.

"Unless you're worried about secret identity stuff, I mean," Marinette went on. "But I won't look at it or anything, and I can wait and do my work then, too, so it'll be kind of like a study session, and it would give you more time to sleep, and... do you want to?"

He could hardly believe his luck. "Yeah! Yeah, that sounds great," he said.

"Great!" she echoed, sounding almost relieved. "So—I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

It took a second for him to understand what was happening. She wanted to see him again. She was asking him to visit her.

 _She_ was asking _him_ to visit _her_.

His grin was so wide he thought his face might split in two.

"It's a date," he said, winking. She rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile.

"Whatever. Go home and sleep, kitty."

"Aww, five more minutes?"

"Don't make me get the watering can."

He heaved an exaggerated sigh and stood, disentangling himself from the blanket with some difficulty.

Marinette stood, too, and gathered the blanket in her arms.

"Princess," he said, giving her a little mock salute.

"Cat Noir."

As he made his dramatic exit, he added another item to the mental list of things he'd learned about Marinette: She liked spending time with him, too.

Out of all his discoveries so far, this one was his favorite.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello again! Sorry about the wait, but school is kind of trying to kill me right now. Consider this extra-long chapter my apology.**

 **Thank you to everyone who left reviews! Happy readers make me happy. Keep being awesome, guys. :)**

 **I don't own these characters, of course.**

 **And now, the chapter.**

* * *

Marinette stormed into her room with a growl and slammed her backpack down on the edge of the chaise, where it promptly slipped off and landed on her foot with a dull _thunk_.

She yelped and grabbed her toes in one hand, hopping backwards on one foot to try to keep her balance, but tripped on the edge of her rug and toppled to the ground. Then she just lay there and stared up at the ceiling, wishing she'd never gotten out of bed today.

Stupid book. Stupid _school_. Stupid Chloe and her stupid bragging about some stupid one-of-a-kind dress that her dad had hired this absolutely incredible new designer to make even though she didn't deserve it and wouldn't appreciate it properly.

Stupid her for trying to hurry out of earshot with some lame bathroom excuse and sending that garbage can flying right as _he_ was walking by. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Marinette _._

She could still see the look on his beautiful face as he stared at his trash-covered shoes…

Marinette jumped to her feet, wincing as her crushed toes throbbed, then dashed up her stairs and burst out onto the terrace. The freezing air hit her like a slap in the face, a welcome shock that drove the memory of her latest humiliation clear out of her head.

Almost.

She started pacing back and forth, focusing on deep, calming breaths and anything other than The Incident. The sky above her head was a bright, bright blue. The sun was shining. The terrace felt unusually roomy, somehow. Maybe because she was out there alone for once. How long had Cat Noir been coming over to her house now—a month or two? She could think about that.

If she was thinking about that, she wasn't thinking about Chloe or dresses or the pain in her foot or _dumping garbage on Adrien Agreste ohgodohgodohgod—_

Marinette let out a little whimper and dropped to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut. Why did she have to be so clumsy? Why was she such a disaster? She hadn't even apologized properly to him after The Incident; she'd taken one look at his expression and fled the scene without a word. Why couldn't she just talk to Adrien like a normal person? He probably thought she was an idiot now.

Well, she _was_ an idiot. An idiot and a klutz and a coward. It had really only been a matter of time until he realized it.

Marinette shivered and pulled herself into a tighter ball, trying to stave off the chill she felt seeping into her very bones, but this was the kind of cold you couldn't hide from. Not even with a sky-high pile of the fuzziest blankets in the universe.

She should probably go inside. That would be the sensible thing to do.

Instead she stared at the corner where her watering can sat, eyes unfocused, until a blur of red swooped into her field of vision.

"Marinette?" Tikki called, hovering so close that their noses were almost touching. "Can you hear me? Marinette!"

"What is it?" she mumbled, knowing full well what Tikki wanted to talk about. She'd dropped her purse on the dining room table as she ran to her room in the hopes of postponing this very conversation.

The little kwami cut right to the chase. "What happened earlier wasn't as bad as you think," she said.

"Really?" Marinette asked. "Because I think I just had the worst day ever."

Tikki landed on her knee and patted it with one tiny hand, gazing up at her solemnly. "It could have happened to anyone."

"Anyone stupid enough to run into a trash can," she mumbled.

"You aren't stupid," Tikki said sharply. "And you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. It was only an accident."

"An accident," she repeated with a sad little smile. "I sure have a lot of those, huh. Isn't my power supposed to be good luck?"

"Marinette," Tikki sighed. "I'm sure Adrien understood—"

She stood abruptly, forcing Tikki to take to the air again. "Sorry, but can we stop talking about this? Please?"

The kwami was silent for a moment. "At least go inside," she said finally. "You'll catch a cold out here."

Marinette considered arguing, but one look at Tikki's stubborn frown told her there was no winning that fight. Plus, she couldn't feel her fingers anymore. Or her face.

As they descended the stairs inside, Tikki hovering along behind as Marinette tried to rub some feeling back into her hands, Tikki spoke up again.

"Cat Noir's coming over tonight, isn't he."

It wasn't even a question anymore, but Marinette nodded anyway.

"You can't study outside in this weather. You'll both freeze."

"Yeah." She walked over to her desk and flopped down in the chair with a sigh.

"Are you going to invite him in?"

Marinette glanced back at Tikki, who was now hovering by her shoulder, then averted her eyes.

After another few moments of silence, it was Tikki's turn to sigh. "I'll be downstairs," she said, drifting toward the door. "Your parents will be off doing that delivery all day, right? There's a batch of cookies they rejected this morning—little burned, but still perfectly good, I don't know what they were thinking—" She broke off with a little cough. "So I'll be there. In case you want to talk. "

She had just reached the door when Marinette cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry. Thanks, Tikki. I just—today—"

The kwami looked back with a smile. "I know. It's okay." Then she flew out through the open door, leaving Marinette alone with her thoughts again.

 _Are you going to invite him in?_

She groaned and scrubbed at her face with both hands.

She hadn't been completely honest with Cat about the reason they'd never gone into her room. Sure, it was _possible_ her parents could randomly walk in and catch them _—_ the same way it was _possible_ that Hawkmoth might decide to leave them alone and take up knitting instead.

It could also be totally avoided by locking her door.

But in her defense, she herself wasn't sure why she didn't just let him in. Every time she considered it, the idea just seemed…wrong. Cat Noir was part of her other life _—_ the one where she could swing across rooftops and fight evildoers and not be an awkward mess who caused disasters everywhere she went. Cat Noir went with Ladybug, and this room was all Marinette's; he shouldn't have any business being there.

But he did—that was the thing. Cat was a part of her regular life now. And honestly? She liked it that way. She liked being able to snort and smile and half-enjoy his stupid jokes without worrying that a moment of distraction might doom the city. She liked just hanging out with him. They were friends, after all—well, they'd always been friends, not that he knew that, but now they were friends all over again.

And friends didn't make friends sit outside in that kind of weather.

Marinette knew what she had to do—but thinking about it made her feel like a thousand akumas were trapped in her stomach.

She sighed and let her eyes fall on her pictures of Adrien, waiting for the usual happy calm to wash over her. Instead the memory of his disgust popped into her head and refused to go away no matter how hard she tried. It was impossible to forget that expression—especially when his face was everywhere she looked.

Suddenly, she wished she didn't have quite so many photos of him.

Maybe she should've listened when Alya said the Wall of Agreste was a bit much. But there were so many beautiful pictures of him in magazines and online and everywhere—it would be a waste not to have some of them in her room.

She wondered what Cat would say if he saw them.

Marinette frowned. It was sort of weird she hadn't talked about Adrien with him already; her conversations with Alya always seemed to circle back to her hopeless crush. But there were always assignments to do and puns to scoff at when Cat was over, so maybe it wasn't _that_ strange.

Besides, she wasn't sure she wanted to talk about that stuff with him. It could get…awkward. What with his crush and all.

Of course she knew about the crush. She had _eyes_.

Cat Noir liked Ladybug—and really, she couldn't blame him. The girl in the mask was brave and clever and heroic. She always knew what to do, and she always saved the day. Everyone loved Ladybug.

Too bad she didn't exist. Not after the transformation ended, anyway.

She blinked as that thought sank in. Cat liked _Ladybug._ Not her. There really wasn't any reason to avoid discussing Adrien with him, even if it felt weird. It wasn't like it would hurt his feelings if Cat found out Marinette had a crush.

She looked up at the photos again, remembering how much time it had taken her to find just the right ones, and let her forehead fall onto her desk with a _thud_.

Cat wouldn't care, but he'd definitely tease her. Who wouldn't? She was head over heels for a gorgeous model who didn't like her back and probably never would. She couldn't even speak to him without sounding like a blabbering idiot. Yet here she was, still pining and dreaming and thinking up names for their beautiful imaginary children. Heck, some days she wanted to laugh at herself.

Or maybe just cry.

She risked one more glance at the pictures, wondering how looking at this boy's face could make her so happy and yet so, so sad, then stood and marched over to her backpack to get her sketchbook. Designing would help. It always helped.

Then she lost herself in a world of fabrics and fashion, the one place where she could make sure every detail was exactly right. It reminded her of thinking up battle strategies, in a way: she had to consider a hundred different possibilities at once and use each little piece to get the effect she wanted. Except when she sketched, she had an eraser. Ladybug couldn't make mistakes.

Funny, considering all Marinette _did_ was make mistakes.

And now she was thinking about The Incident again.

Marinette exhaled slowly and flipped the page, enjoying the wide open possibility of blank paper for a moment, then began sketching the most beautiful, ornate, and utterly impractical gown she could think of. Then another, and another. She'd never actually be able to make them, not on her budget, but that didn't really matter. Beading and lace and shimmering pale pink fabrics were good for the soul.

She tore out a few of the more lavish designs and put them up over Adrien's pictures—just for today.

As she put the finishing touches on an elegant ball gown a few hours later, she thought she heard a faint noise from somewhere above. She looked up, blinking as if coming out of a trance, and noticed there was a cookie sitting on her desk. Tikki must have brought it up at some point. She smiled, wondering vaguely how much time had passed.

The sound came again, louder this time. It almost sounded like...knocking?

Marinette's gaze snapped to the windows. When had it gotten so dark? She hadn't realized she'd been sketching for so long. Was Cat already outside? He must be.

But she wasn't ready to be around people yet! Just look what had happened with poor Tikki.

The knocking came again, and she knew in her gut that her time was up. She exhaled slowly, tried on a smile, and started up the stairs. Ready or not, she couldn't keep Cat waiting.

He was leaning against the terrace railing as usual, acting for all the world as if he _hadn't_ been pounding on her window a second ago and _wasn't_ shivering like a phone on vibrate. He jumped to attention as she came out, almost tripping over the book bag he'd started carrying to hold his assignments when he whirled around.

"Um, hi," she said, giving him an awkward little wave. How did she usually talk to other human beings? She couldn't seem to remember.

"Hey, Princess," he said. "What were you doing in there? I've been knocking for twenty minutes."

"Sorry," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. "I didn't hear it." She could tell he was waiting for her to go on, but couldn't seem to make herself say more.

"The weather's _paw-_ ful, you know," he told her, ears drooping as he put on an exaggerated pout. "I was _fur_ -eezing my tail off out here."

"Sorry," she said.

"No worries, I forgive you. How could I stay mad at such a pretty face?"

"Shut up," she mumbled, but the retort had no venom to it.

After another long moment of silence, Cat stepped closer, brow furrowing. "Something's wrong," he said. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" she squeaked. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"I called you pretty and you didn't even hit me."

She opened her mouth to deny it again, but then thought better of it. She sighed heavily. "Just had a bad day, kitty. It really is nothing."

He stood there for a moment, watching her, then crouched to rummage through his bag.

"Here," he said, pulling a small object out of a side pocket. "I brought this for you." He stood and, with a dramatic flourish, presented her with—

"A doorstop?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, bouncing a little on his toes. "To jam your door closed. So we can study inside where it's warm and your parents won't be able to barge in and ruin your life."

She looked at him and then down at the little hunk of plastic in her hand, feeling a smile tugging at her lips. "And what do I say when they ask why I barricaded the door?" Could she even use it with a trapdoor? How would that work?

Cat froze. "Uh—"

"Kidding," she said, letting the grin spread across her face. It was a thoughtful gift, even if she probably couldn't use it. "Thanks, kitty."

"Maybe you could use it today," he said.

"Maybe tomorrow," she said quickly. "Besides, my parents aren't even here right now." She raised her eyebrows, still grinning.

Cat's eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "I—huh." He cleared his throat. "So… can I...?"

She turned and motioned for him to go inside, and his eyes lit up.

"But no messes, kitty," she told him, following him in and starting down the stairs. "Got it?"

He was gazing around her room eagerly with his bag dangling from one hand, eyes flitting from thing to thing like he was trying to look at all of it at once.

" _Got it_?" she repeated.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Don't you trust me, Princess?"

"Nope," she lied.

Cat turned and narrowed his eyes at her; she smiled innocently, and he went back to looking around.

"You know," he said, "there's a lot of pink in here."

" _Really_? I never noticed."

He ignored her. "It's nice, though. It's very… _Marinette_."

"Thanks—I think. So," she went on, "what do you have tonight?"

"Science homework," he said, making a face. "Not hard, but it'll take forever."

"Me too, actually—science. Except it's going to be awful. I don't get it at all."

"Want help?" he asked. "We're probably studying the same sort of stuff."

She waved away his offer and walked over to take her seat at the desk once more. "Later, maybe. I'd rather work on these."

"On what?" He came closer to peer over her shoulder, leaning forward with one hand on the back of the chair. "Are these your designs?"

"Yep."

"Wow." He examined each of the pages on her wall in turn. "These are really good."

He seemed very interested in the drawings, for whatever reason—so interested that he hadn't realized how close they'd gotten. He was practically in her _lap._ She caught a whiff of soap as he shifted to look at a different dress and coughed pointedly.

He flinched and jumped back, looking sheepish, but covered it up with a little smirk. "Yes, Princess?"

"You should start on your stuff," she told him. "I'm going to do a bit more sketching first."

"Suit yourself." He strolled over to the other side of the room, dropped his bag by her fallen backpack and flopped down on the chaise with a muffled _thump._ He then made himself comfortable, which apparently involved sprawling out across the entire length like he was waiting for someone to draw him.

And if he even tried to suggest that, she'd smack him over the head with her sketchbook.

"How are you going to work like that?" she asked.

"You're just jealous that my spot's better than yours."

"It's my room, kitty. _Every_ spot is my spot."

"Not this one," he said, stretching both arms over his head with an exaggerated yawn and settling back into the cushions.

She huffed in amusement, shaking her head, and grabbed her sketchbook. After a moment, he bent down to pull a folder and some pencils out of his bag. Then the only sounds were the scratching of pencils on paper and disgruntled mumbles when he had to redo a problem or she made another mistake.

"Aren't you going to do your homework?" he asked suddenly. He gestured down at her science textbook, which he was currently using as a flat surface to write on.

"Why, Cat Noir," she said, putting her sketchbook down and feigning surprise. "Who'd have thought you'd be such a goody two-shoes?"

"I'm not!" he protested, shoving his worksheet to one side as if trying to hide the evidence. "I just think you start working now, that's all."

"Wait, does this mean you're a literal teacher's _pet?"_

"I am not!"

"Whatever you say, kitty."

"There's nothing wrong with being responsible," he muttered, frowning a little.

"I never said there was," she assured him. "But I'd rather be irresponsible right now."

"Why?" he asked. "Work doesn't go away if you ignore it."

"Yeah, I know." She sighed. "Look, I just—I really don't want to think about anything to do with school right now."

Cat hesitated. "Because of your bad day?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Another pause. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but—what happened?"

Now it was her turn to hesitate. But she and Cat had spent a lot of time together lately, so he already knew she was a total dork. She might as well tell him.

She turned her chair around to face him and began to summarize the whole sorry event, leaving out most of the conversation with Chloe to skip to the good parts.

"—and I swear I have no idea how it happened, but my foot hit the can as I was running and I went down and it went flying and the trash was everywhere and everyone was looking at me and probably thinking what an _idiot_ I am and it was basically the worst thing ever." The memory of Adrien's expression popped into her head again. "And a bunch of people were nearby when it happened and I kind of got garbage on them when it happened. So, um, they probably all hate me now." She could feel her eyes burning like she was going to cry; she hastily swiped at them with the end of her sleeve, hoping Cat hadn't noticed. "And that's what happened. Story over. The end."

Cat was staring at her now, looking utterly baffled. "But—no one hates you! I mean—uh," he said. "It doesn't _sound_ like they would hate you. From what you said. Just now."

Marinette sniffled and looked over at him, frowning. "Were you even listening?"

"It was only an accident, right?" he said. "I'm sure everyone understood."

It sounded a lot like what Tikki had tried to tell her earlier. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe."

"You fell pretty hard when it happened, right? And then ran away? Maybe they were just worried."

Marinette snorted. _"Right."_

"I'm serious," he insisted. "They'll probably just ask you if you're okay tomorrow."

She didn't really believing that, not for a second, but she only shrugged and leaned back in her chair with a little groan. "I just don't know why it had to happen in front of _him_ ," she mumbled.

"Who?" Cat asked. She jumped, feeling her face go red. She hadn't meant for him to hear that part.

It looked like they'd be having the Adrien conversation sooner than she'd thought. A whole lot sooner.

"It's, um." She fiddled with the ends of her pigtails. "He's this guy I like. _Like_ -like. A lot."

Cat waited for her to elaborate—and any other day she would have, and gladly, but…

She swallowed. "Can we not use names?"

"Oh. Yeah, of course," he said, just like she'd known he would. Her partner respected secrets; it was one of the things she liked about him.

Cat shifted to sit on the edge of his seat, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "So, the guy goes to your school?" he said.

"He's in my class," she confirmed.

"And things aren't going well?"

Marinette could only stare at him for a second. Then burst out laughing and laughed until her sides were sore, the sound of it bitter and hollow even to her own ears.

"So...that's a no?" Cat said.

"No. God no," she gasped, wiping a tear from one eye. "I just—ugh." The giggles died in her throat and she covered her face with both hands. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know I exist. Conversations with him never go the way they're supposed to and I'm always embarrassing myself in front of him, and nothing ever changes." She lowered her voice and her hands, gazing down at the floor. "Some days I don't think he'll ever notice me—we'll just go our separate ways someday without anything ever happening and then I'll grow old and die alone. But I still like him, you know? And when things go okay every once in a while it's amazing, the best feeling in the world, but...then they don't. And it sucks."

"Yeah," Cat said quietly. "I know what you mean."

She nodded, still looking at the floor—then blinked. "Wait. What?"

"Ladybug," he added like that made it clearer.

"I know _that,_ but— _what?_ You're—you talk with her. You joke around. You flirt!"

"And look how far it's got me," he said.

"You don't embarrass yourself in front of her, though."

Cat grimaced. "You think? Do you know how often my lady has to save my sorry tail? Watch some videos on the Ladyblog. It's all there."

"She doesn't mind that," Marinette protested. "You're partners."

"But _I_ mind," he said, staring down at his hands. "Not all the time," he rushed to add. "I'm grateful for the help, of course. And being with her is like—it's like you said, amazing. _She's_ amazing. I'd always rather be with her than not with her, even if we're only partners. It's just that some days…you know."

''Some days, it hurts," she said softly.

"Yeah." He tried to smile and failed, settling for a pale imitation of his usual smirk.

That pain on his face was her fault, she knew. Even if he'd fallen in love with her mask, not her, it was still her fault. But what else was she supposed to do? She liked Adrien.

She liked Adrien Agreste, and it was making both of them miserable.

Cat snorted. "We make a pretty depressing duo, eh Princess?"

"We really do," she agreed.

There was silence for a moment, but it was a companionable silence. They were comrades in arms now—and even though she still felt guilty, it was nice to talk to someone who got it. Alya and Tikki were great—so great she didn't deserve friends like them—but they didn't really understand how it felt. He did.

"Hey," Cat said after a little while.

She looked over at him expectantly.

"You know what helps with depression? Doing homework."

"No," she said, pointing a finger at him. "No. _No."_

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Cat, noooooo," she moaned.

"Why not?"

She moaned again. "If I start doing homework, that means tomorrow's going to come, and if tomorrow comes I'll have to get up and go to school and face everyone and they'll all be laughing about what a stupid klutz I am and it'll be awful, _paw_ -ful, whatever you want to call it, so I'm just going to keep drawing and pretend tomorrow won't happen."

He cocked his head. "That makes no sense."

"Yeah, well, _you_ make no sense."

"Hey!" he said. "I'm wounded, Princess."

"Sure you are."

"You owe me an a- _paw_ -logy now. And you know what the best way to a- _paw_ -logize is?"

"Let me guess: homework."

"Exactly!" he said. "You're so clever. You'll finish that worksheet in a snap."

Marinette scowled at him, then gave in. " _Fine_. Fine," she told him. She stuck her pencil behind one ear, closed her sketchbook, and walked over to stand over the chaise. "Move over, I'm sitting here."

"Nah," he said. He was taking up the whole chaise again, reclining with a little lazy smirk. "I told you, this is my spot. Find your own."

"And I told _you,_ it's my room." She snatched her folder from her backpack and sat down on top of his ankles, startling a surprised little _mew_ from him. "My room, my spot. Now scoot, kitty."

Cat hastily pulled in his legs, watching her suspiciously as he shifted to an upright position.

She grinned and opened her folder, her smile dimming considerably when she looked down at the assignment. "Got a second? I'm going to need some help here."

"Sure," he said. "With what?"

"People. Love. Life. Everything," she replied. "I don't even know where to start."

"Join the club, Princess." Cat scooted closer to look at her worksheet, frowning slightly when he saw that all the questions were still blank. "You really didn't do any of this, did you?"

"Nope."

"Okay, then. Let's start with question one."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello again! I'm ~finally~ back with the next chapter. I'm still not super happy with how this one turned out—I've been writing and rewriting it for a while now—but hey, the show must go on. Plus I missed you guys.**

 **Quick note: as the story goes on I'll be relying more heavily on headcanons—about patrolling, for one, and a couple other things, too. As always, if I'm flat-out contradicting canon please feel free to let me know. (Preferably in a non-spoilery way since I still have a lot of episodes to watch.)**

 **And** — **as always** — **suggestions and predictions and random comments are appreciated, too. :)**

 ** _Miraculously_** **enough, I still don't own these characters. But here's the chapter.**

* * *

Adrien scanned the school hallway, nodding every once in a while as Nino's monologue about some new band he'd started listening to drifted in one ear and out the other. He was nervous, though he didn't know why. All he had to do was find Marinette and ask her if she was okay to prove himself—well, Cat Noir—right and maybe get her to quit worrying about yesterday's accident. Despite his alter ego's best efforts and worst puns, when he'd left last night Marinette had still seemed off. Not her usual self.

He frowned, remembering the sad little smile on her face as she told him that everyone hated her now—how sure she'd sounded. He never would have guessed it bothered her so much, even though he had actually been there when it happened—and that bothered him. A lot. He thought he'd been making some progress in his quest to figure her out, but then something like this would happen and he'd realize how many things he didn't know about her.

He hadn't known about her crush.

The memory of last night's conversation surfaced again, and he ducked his to hide the sudden heat in his face. He'd never actually admitted to anyone that crushing on Ladybug wasn't all Valentine's hearts and butterflies. Or talked about his crush at all, really—the one-sided discussions he tried to have with Plagg didn't count. It had been good to get it all off his chest, but also sort of… weird. Embarrassing. He had no idea how to act after a conversation like that, and it was making him almost dread facing her again.

So okay, maybe he _did_ know why he was breaking out in a cold sweat now. Still, he refused to let her walk around feeling like crap because she knocked over one little trash can. It hadn't been a big deal—and it was his duty, as her friend, to find her and make sure she knew that.

He finally spotted a flash of blue-black hair by the lockers and quickly changed direction, walking a little faster to catch up before he lost his nerve.

"Dude, where are you going?" Nino asked, trailing behind him with a puzzled frown on his face. When he followed Adrien's gaze, though, the frown instantly transformed into a suggestive grin. "Oh. _Oh_ ," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"It's not what you think," Adrien muttered, dropping his gaze to his shoes and walking faster still.

"And what do I think it is?" Nino asked innocently.

"Hey, Marinette!" Adrien called, deciding not to answer that question. "Marinette!" She turned after the second call and immediately froze when she saw him, her face turning bright red.

Behind him, Nino started cackling.

Adrien half-jogged the last few meters and came to a stop right where she stood, Alya beside her, emptying her school bag into her locker. "Hi," he said, discreetly wiping sweaty palms on his pant legs.

"Hi!" she squeaked. No stammering. They were off to a good start.

Nino and Alya exchanged a look. "I'm gonna go on ahead," Alya announced. "I have to go do something somewhere else."

"What a coincidence!" Nino said. "Same. Mind if I tag along?"

"Not at all," she replied, grinning. Before turning to go, she reached around Marinette to slam her locker closed, slung an arm around her indignant friend, and whispered something in her ear. Marinette flushed an even deeper red, wordlessly gaping like a goldfish at her friend's wicked smirk.

With that, Alya and Nino exchanged a look and all but sprinted away.

"Wait!" Marinette yelped, finally regaining her voice. "Alya!"

The other girl waved without looking back.

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut sagged against her locker door, letting her head fall against the metal with a little _thunk_. "Really? _"_ she mumbled, her voice barely audible amidst the buzz of conversation in the hall. _"Really?"_

Adrien shifted uncomfortably beside her. Why did their friends have to go and make such a big deal out of a simple conversation? All it did was make things awkward. And Marinette didn't appreciate it any more than he did, judging by the way she was gently banging her head against the locker.

He looked at her more closely and frowned. Those dark circles under her eyes hadn't been there the day before, had they? Did she even go to sleep last night? She'd been sketching again when he left, and he knew he got caught up in her designs… or was she coming down with something?

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Marinette's eyes snapped open, and she leaped away from the lockers like they'd burned her. "Yes! Okay. I'm okay, I just—um," she stammered, her blush reaching an impressive new intensity. He couldn't quite put a name to the color: it was too dark to be called red, but too bright for crimson. Scarlet, maybe?

Wait—she'd asked him something. Crap.

"Sorry, what was that?" he said.

"Nothing! Just, um. " She took a deep breath, gathering up her courage. "Why do you ask?"

He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, trying to focus on what he'd wanted to say and not the color of her cheeks. "I was worried, since—you know—yesterday. I mean, you fell and—and then you just ran off without saying anything, and so I wanted to make sure."

"Oh," she said, looking little shell-shocked. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Oh," she said again. "I'm okay. I'm good. Very good right now."

"Cool." He smiled. "I'm glad."

She blinked up at him dazedly. "Cool."

He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He wanted to keep talking with her, but what was he supposed to say now? "So," he began, hoping despite all past experience Marinette might jump in and help him out.

"So," she said. It seemed like she was making a concentrated effort not to babble; unfortunately, with her not talking and him not sure what to say, the result was awkward silence.

One minute passed. Then another.

"Class'll probably start soon," he said lamely.

"Oh! Sorry. I should, um, get going," Marinette said, bouncing on her toes.

"Don't want to be late," he joked.

She nodded and then hurried away like Hawkmoth himself was chasing her, both hands clasped around the strap of her school bag and a little smile on her face.

Adrien watched her until she darted out of sight, feeling strangely disappointed. He'd been so worried about their conversation last night making things weird, he hadn't remembered that she wouldn't actually recognize him as the one she'd talked to. It was anticlimactic—almost funny: He'd been in Marinette's bedroom last night, swapping deep dark secrets about their love lives (or lack thereof), and now they were practically strangers.

He didn't like it. Not at all.

He started walking in the direction she'd gone and tried to reason away his gloom. It hadn't been _that_ bad—not compared to their past interactions. Conversations had gotten less forced and nervous since he'd started greeting her every day, and this time she'd even asked a question of her own. Really, this was good. This was progress.

In a couple of years they might even manage a conversation about the weather.

He sighed. Even then, Marinette would probably still end up blushing. What was with that, anyway? She hardly ever blushed around Cat Noir. Well, she got a bit pink sometimes, but it was hardly the same thing. In fact, he'd never seen her act the way she did around him in any other situation. Although, to be fair, she'd come pretty close last night.

When she'd talked about her crush.

Adrien froze, his schoolbag slipping to the ground with a _thump_ and a muffled yowl from Plagg.

No. No way. He was reading too much into things. Marinette couldn't like _Adrien,_ she—he—come on. Most of the time _he_ didn't even like Adrien: too stiff, too awkward, too boring. Too many responsibilities.

Besides, he liked _Ladybug._ Ladybug! That would mean Marinette's crush didn't like her back, which was stupid because Marinette was funny and kind and clever and pretty and any guy in his right mind would be happy to date her if she asked him.

It would mean the pain in her voice when she'd told him she was invisible was all his fault, and if he ever got to date Ladybug she would have her heart broken. So he _couldn't_ be her crush. It just wouldn't be fair.

He scooped up his bag again and started striding down the hall, mumbling an apology to his disgruntled kwami and something about extra cheese later.

Really, he was being too full of himself. There were plenty of other boys in the class Marinette could be interested in. And anyway, she didn't even act like she had a crush on him. Liking someone meant doing everything you could to get their attention—he knew that better than anyone. Getting Ladybug to notice him was practically his purpose in life, even if he did it using cheesy one-liners and bad puns. If anything, Marinette always acted like she wanted to get away from him.

But then again, he'd never seen her trying to flirt like his alter ego with anyone. And he couldn't really picture her ever dropping one-liners, cheesy or otherwise, around anyone in the class…

He shook his head violently. He shouldn't even be thinking about this—not when she clearly wanted to keep her crush's identity a secret.

Except… if he could figure out who Mariette's crush was, he might be able to help her out—which would be a good thing, right? Marinette deserved to have a crush who liked her back. If he could give her and the guy a little nudge in the right direction, wouldn't it be worth bending his promise a little?

Adrien smiled, his mind running through possible matchmaking schemes already. Just because he wasn't having much success in his love life didn't mean he was totally incompetent. He could do this.

As for _his_ crush? Well, it just so happened that later that day he'd be patrolling Paris with none other than Ladybug herself. So… he would flirt the way he always did and pray for a miracle, he guessed.

He dismissed the nagging voice of realism in his mind and focused on happier thoughts. By the time he made it to class, he was sure that the next time he and Marinette talked about love, it would be to celebrate—and freak out about what to do on their first dates.

. . .

Cat had always suspected that patrols were more for show than anything else. Akumatization usually happened during the day, when the stress of school, bosses, bullies, or work got to be too much for people—and considering what a commotion akumas always made, there wasn't any real need to search for them. But seeing Ladybug and Cat Noir swinging and leaping around the city raised public morale and discouraged petty crime (even though crime-fighting wasn't really their job), so swing and leap they did. Afterward they'd practice coordinating attacks and test out some of Ladybug's new battle strategies before calling it a night.

He didn't really mind either way—patrols also gave him a chance to spend more time with Ladybug, and he wasn't about to say no to that. Prowling the rooftops of Paris for crime and akumatized citizens wasn't exactly same as strolling through the park or a seeing a movie together, but it was the closest he could get to just hanging out without any villainous plots getting in the way.

And it was nice to just get outside once in a while, especially on nights like this one: not too cold, not too windy, clear skies with a few stars twinkling overhead.

The night became even lovelier when a certain red-clad heroine dropped onto the roof where he was reclining.

He smiled, feeling his heart rate pick up like it always did when he saw her. "You're late, my lady."

"I am not," she retorted, smiling back. "You're just early—for once."

"Come on, I'm always _pun-_ ctual."

She shook her head and sighed at the wordplay, but she was smiling as she did it.

"You're in a good mood today," he commented.

"That I am," she said, plopping down next to him. His heart kicked into overdrive. Ladybug wasn't usually one for chatting—she preferred to focus on the business at hand.

"Care to share?" he asked, trying to hide his excitement.

Her smile grew. "It's nothing, really. Just had a good day."

He'd never seen that expression on her face before—dreamy, almost blissful. He wanted to know more about what had made her so happy, but if he started asking for more detail than she wanted to give the conversation might be over.

"What about you?" she asked him. "You really are early, you know."

He shrugged. "Had to get out of the house."

"Something wrong?"

"Nah," he said, waving a hand in lazy dismissal. "I just needed some fresh air."

He could hear Plagg laughing at him inside his head. _Seriously, boy? That's what you're going with?_

 _No one asked you_ , he shot back.

So maybe he'd gone out early because he needed to stop obsessing over the whole crush situation. Maybe he'd been hunched over a list of all the boys in the class, racking his brains to try to remember if she'd acted differently around any of them—but circling back to the one person it _could not be_ again and again and again. So what?

"Cat Noir!"

He snapped out of his reverie and propped himself up on one elbow, his trademark smirk sliding onto his face from sheer force of habit. "Yes, Bugaboo?"

Just like that, Ladybug was all business again. Crap. Should've just kept his mouth shut. "I _said_ I have some civilian stuff I have to take care of tonight, so I want to wrap things up quickly."

"No problem," he replied. Actually, he had a paper to finish writing, so getting home early would be a plus. Though it _would_ mean less time with her. "How do you want to do this?"

"First we split up," she began, a look of concentration coming over her face as she laid out her plan. He loved that look—it was the one she always got before doing something amazing and saving the day. (Plus the way her nose scrunched was adorable.) "We each take half of the city and do a quick circuit. Let people see us patrolling, check on things—you know, the works. Then we meet up here again and work through that new attack pattern I was telling you about a few times, and then we can go home."

"Sounds good. I'll take this half," he said, gesturing in the direction he knew the bakery was in. He could stop by for a few minutes to say hello when he passed her house. Maybe snag some cookies, if she had any to spare.

Something like alarm flashed across Ladybug's face, and she opened her mouth as if to argue—then, suddenly, she seemed to reconsider. "I… alright. Guess I'll cover the other side. Just remember, we're going for speed tonight. Speed and efficiency. That means no stopping to sight see or meet-and-greet or whatever it is you usually do."

"No selfies with my fans?" he joked.

"Not even one." Her eyes held his, solemn and stern and so, so blue. "And _definitely_ no shooting the breeze with random citizens. Right?"

"Of course," he replied immediately, nodding.

Ladybug nodded, too, relaxing. "Good. Shall we get started?"

"After you," he told her, sweeping into a low bow as he gestured for her to go ahead.

"What a gentleman," she said dryly. "See you in a few." With an expert flick of her yo-yo she was off, swinging from building to building with fluid grace. He stared after her a moment, transfixed, then remembered he had his own route to cover.

He started out with every intention of keeping his promise. Really.

But only a few minutes later, another blue-eyed girl's face popped into his head. After their big whatever-it-had-been last night, he couldn't just not show up, could he? That didn't seem right. After the trash can incident, he knew Marinette worried about the littlest things. What if she thought he was avoiding her? What if she suddenly decided _he_ hated her?

But it wasn't like he told her he would be there; he'd just been coming over whenever he could, and it just so happened that lately he had time every night. So she should have no reason to worry, theoretically. It wasn't like they'd made plans. It wasn't a _date._

He felt his face going a little red at that thought.

Skipping one night wouldn't hurt anyone. He'd just explain that he'd been away doing his superhero duties when he dropped by tomorrow. Maybe he'd throw in some stuff about his fighting skills and unmatched bravery while he was at it—she'd be _so_ impressed.

He chuckled. She'd probably roll her eyes and throw something at him.

Decision made, he turned his attention back to the rooftops flying by. He'd make better time if he took a path that didn't include her house, anyway. It was the logical choice.

And yet somehow he found himself en route to the bakery.

But he wasn't going to stop. There would be no stops today, no sir. No stopping.

He landed in a crouch on the neighboring rooftop and hastily revised that plan. A quick glance at her windows showed that her lights were on, so she must still be awake. Waiting up for someone? Worrying and misinterpreting and overthinking and freaking out?

Or sketching. Yeah. Probably sketching.

He leaned to one side and then the other, hoping to catch a glimpse of her—just to make sure she was okay, and then he would start patrolling again. Only he wasn't seeing her, no matter what angle he tried, and it was making him realize how much he wanted to see her. He wanted to go inside.

Ladybug's warning rang in his ears once again, and the guilt coiling in his stomach doubled. He should just leave; he had promised his partner.

But he wanted to see Marinette's face when he told her he was _paw_ -trolling to _purr_ -tect the _paw_ -blic peace. Or maybe something about _cat-_ ching criminals— _claw_ -breakers? Wait, no, that sounded stupid—

 _Why do you always get like this when you're outside this girl's house?_ Plagg complained. _All this angst is giving me a headache. Decide what you're doing and do it already._

Cat was about to tell him exactly what he should do with that advice, but the kwami was right. Trying to decide really was taking more time than a quick visit would. Ladybug said she wanted to save time, right? So the best thing to do would be to stop in and say hi so he could stop wasting time and get on with his patrolling.

With practiced agility, he launched himself into the air and landed squarely in the center of the terrace. But when he went to knock on the entrance to her room, he found it unlocked and ever so slightly ajar.

Cat blinked, then opened the hatch fully and stuck his head inside. "Princess?" he called, voice low. "Hello?"

He wanted to wait there, since it felt wrong to go in without permission, but a nagging feeling in his gut told him something wasn't right. So he entered and tiptoed around Marinette's room, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds as if she might magically appear and demand to know what he thought he was doing. After five minutes of calling and searching turned up nothing, though, it finally hit him.

Marinette wasn't there.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Um... hi, guys! Remember me?**

 **I know you probably aren't interested in excuses, but I feel like I should explain anyway. At first, I took a break from updating because I finally felt inspired to work on this other writing project I've been sitting on for like two years. After a couple months I was going to come back to fanfic—I even pulled out all my notes for this story and everything... and realized my plan for this fic is, in fact, holier than Swiss cheese.**

 **It's not even a plan, really. I have no plan and I don't know why I ever thought differently.**

 **But I didn't want to leave you all hanging, so I've been trying to figure out how to plot the rest of this story for months** **now and failing miserably. And you know what? Screw plans. I ship it; you ship it. Let's sail this thing into the abyss and see where it takes us.**

 **So that's what's been happening on my end. Now, the chapter.**

* * *

" _She's gone!_ "

Ladybug spun at the faint sound of her partner's voice—just in time to see Cat Noir miss the edge of the rooftop where she was waiting. Only a lightning-fast flick of her yo-yo saved him from a painful collision with the ground.

"That was close," she sighed, hauling Cat up to safety and offering a hand to help him to his feet. Then she noticed his expression. "Hey, are you okay?"

Cat was bent over, trying to catch his breath, and didn't reply.

Had he rushed back just to meet her or something? Was he planning to straighten up and make some flirty comment about how he couldn't stand to be so far apart? Well, it wouldn't be the first time. She braced herself for the same annoying routine, ready to roll her eyes and bite back a laugh (on the off-chance he made a rare good joke) and deflect like always.

But no punchline came. He was just doubled over, taking deep breaths—even though, knowing his stamina, he ought to have recovered by now. He shouldn't even _have_ to recover from normal patrolling; patrols were the easy part of their job.

"Cat," she said, "what happened? You look like you ran a few laps around the city."

"Three," he mumbled.

Was that a joke? She opened her mouth to banter back—then realized he wasn't kidding.

With one last, shuddering breath, Cat stood straight and looked her right in the eyes. "I need your help, my lady."

She was getting a bad feeling about this. "With what?"

Cat started talking a mile a minute. "So I know I said I wouldn't make any stops—and I'm sorry, really, I really wasn't going to—but there was this one friend I really had to visit, and I did, but the door was open and the light was on and _she wasn't there_ and I think she's out in the city somewhere and I looked and looked but I can't find her and I think something happened—"

She couldn't hear a word after that over the roar of panic in her mind.

No.

Nonononononono, this was not happening.

 _This_ _could not be happening_.

She should've suspected something would go wrong, she thought dazedly. Things had been going so well lately, trash can incident excluded: Adrien was talking to her more, Cat was hanging out almost every night, and there hadn't been an akuma attack in forever. It obviously couldn't last. Now Cat was going to figure out her secret identity and her life—her double life?—no, _both_ of her lives would be over.

For a second, a small, optimistic part of her wondered if it would really be so bad. Cat finding out she was Ladybug, that is. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about her secret—about the responsibility weighing on her every day. It's not like he would tell anyone, and he'd obviously done a pretty good job of keeping his own identity a secret.

Seeing her for what she really was might even help him get over his crush already. Maybe then she could joke around with him and enjoy his company as Ladybug without worrying that she was giving him false hope or something.

But that happy fantasy fell apart almost as soon as she'd thought it. Telling each other their civilian identities was a _terrible_ idea. If one other person knew, even if it was someone trustworthy, they'd be bound to talk about it together—and then someone might overhear them, and if word got around it could eventually reach Hawkmoth's ears and then they'd both be in danger and their families and friends would be in danger and there'd be a hostage situation and the city would be destroyed and life as they knew it would fall apart and it would be _all her fault_.

Not to mention the mere thought of having to tell him made her blood turn to ice.

So, yeah—she should probably come up with a plan. Or at least do something other than stare into space and hyperventilate.

Distantly, she heard Tikki's voice in her head. _Marinette!_ _Mari—Ladybug! Snap out of it!_

Ladybug. That's right—she was Ladybug, at least right now. Ladybug always had a plan. She could make a plan that would fix this. A flash of inspiration would hit, like always, and she'd know what to do.

Any time now. Any time...

Oh god, she couldn't think of a plan. Her brain had short-circuited.

 _Can't you just go home?_ Tikki said.

 _Huh?_

 _Then he can meet Marinette and see she's okay._

 _Oh!_ She probably should've thought of that. _Thanks, Tikki._

 _Happy to help._

She put on her most authoritative expression and turned back to her partner. "Hey, Cat."

He was muttering to himself about akumas and crooks and muggers and streets with uneven cobblestones, head cradled in his hands and eyes wide. _She could twist an ankle on those cobblestones if she wasn't careful, especially in the dark, and then how would she get home? Wait, how would she run away from the muggers? And the akumas! And akumatized muggers!_

"Kitty?"

No response.

"Cat Noir!"

Cat blinked at her, lifting his head slightly.

"Calm down, okay?"

"But… she's missing."

Ladybug sighed. She'd be touched by his concern, if it wasn't threatening to mess up her lives. "You're jumping to conclusions. This friend of yours might just be on an errand, or—I don't know, maybe she was in the bathroom. An open door does not make someone missing."

"She shouldn't be running errands now. It isn't safe!"

She raised an eyebrow. "And what do you want us to do about it? Search the entire city for one girl who might not even be in trouble?"

She winced as Cat shot her a surprised, wounded look. It was for his own good that she wasn't offering to help. If _Ladybug_ was part of the search team, they'd never find Marinette.

Time to put Tikki's plan into action. "Look," she said, "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I have something really important to do after this. But we can end the patrol early today so you have more time to search for her, if that's what you really want to do." She paused a beat, trying to figure out how to suggest it just the right way. "Except… did you ever go back to her house after the first time? She might be back from whatever she was doing by now. You might be worrying over nothing."

It took a second for her words to sink in. "You're—you're right," he muttered. "You're right, my lady, I didn't even think of—thank you. I'll go check right now!"

 _"Now?"_ Ladybug yelped. Cat was already leaping away.

For a moment, she could only stare after him as her heart plummeted to her toes. Then she sprang into action. Her yo-yo was a blur as she rocketed through the rooftops of Paris, desperately racing to beat her oblivious partner home. Over rooftops, through alleyways, sometimes running but mostly swinging, thinking of nothing but where to throw the yo-yo next. She hadn't even known she could move this fast. Still, it felt like an age before she landed on her terrace in a crouch and practically dived into her room, her transformation falling away as she went.

Thank god Cat hadn't locked the door on his way out.

She shut it now and turned, leftover adrenaline muddying her thoughts. She should sit down somewhere, right? That sounded good. Somewhere he could see from the window, so he'd see her as soon as he approached the building. Maybe the desk?

She sat heavily and groped blindly for her sketchbook, then flipped to a new page with hands that shook a little. Tikki had already made herself scarce, so that was one less thing to worry about; now she just had to wait. Draw and wait, until… actually, how would she know when he'd seen her? There wasn't really a reason for him to come inside. He'd probably just swing by, spot her in the window, and turn around again. That would be best. Then she wouldn't have to make up some story about where she'd been.

She glanced up and, with some surprise, realized those sketches from the other day were still papered over her Adrien photos. Maybe seeing his face would help her calm down? It usually did—provided it was a picture and not the actual boy.

Funny how that worked.

Just as she was reaching out to uncover the pictures, there was a pounding on her terrace door that almost gave her a heart attack.

She jumped up and hurried over to the terrace, trying to breathe normally and failing. She wasn't ready for this, she was _not_ ready to face him—

She opened the door anyway and was almost nose-to-nose with a disheveled, wide-eyed Cat.

"Marinette," he breathed. Then he just stared at her for an uncomfortably long time.

Her heart was hammering in her throat; she could barely force words out around it. "Cat. Um—"

"I'm coming in."

She jumped back as he entered, still not quite sure what was going on. Why was he here? Why was he inside? What about—

"Cat!" she hissed, sudden realization dawning. "Cat, you can't be in here. My parents are downstairs! What if they come up?"

Cat glanced at her, face unreadable. Then stalked over to her desk, snatched up the doorstop he'd given her before, and stormed over to her trapdoor—only to halt as he realized that… well, that it was a trapdoor. He looked from the hunk of plastic to the door and back a few times. Half-crouched and tried to wedge it in the crack anyway. Stared at it. Realized it wasn't going to do squat.

Then he tossed the doorstop to one side and plopped down cross-legged on top of the trapdoor.

Marinette was starting to wonder if this was some kind of stress-induced hallucination.

"There," Cat said, folding his arms. "Now where were you?"

"What?"

"When I was here earlier and you weren't!" He glared. " _Where were you?_ "

"I don't..." He was angry. Why was he angry? He hadn't seemed angry earlier—just worried.

"Did you sneak out or something? What were you doing? What were you _thinking_?" His voice got louder with each question.

"Cat, stop yelling—my parents might hear!" she whispered, her voice an octave higher than usual.

"Your parents," Cat repeated, somehow not noticing that she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Still, he lowered his voice like she'd asked. "Do _they_ know you were missing earlier?"

"I wasn't _missing,"_ she told him, avoiding his question. "I just... had something important to do." There. That wasn't even a lie.

"At this time of night?"

"I—"

" _Alone_?"

She couldn't help rolling her eyes, her feelings a strange combination of unsettled, amused, and offended. "Down, kitty. I can take care of myself."

" _But_ —"

"Cat, _shhh_! I wasn't alone, okay?" she said. "I was with… a friend. A good friend."

"Who?"

She bit back the " _You!"_ on the tip of her tongue, her anxiety quickly being replaced with frustration. Why couldn't Cat just take her word for it? Why was he asking her all these questions she couldn't answer?

"It isn't any of your business who I was with," she told him sharply. "And how do you even know I wasn't here? Were you snooping in my room?"

 _And didn't you tell me no stops? s_ he remembered. _Ladybug said no stopping, and you agreed. You promised!_

"Uh," Cat said, taken aback by her sudden vehemence. "Well—"

"Who gave you the right to barge in here and give me the third degree?" She folded her arms. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

Cat looked like he was dying to argue, but couldn't figure out how. _Ha._ Finally he said, very quietly, "I was worried."

"That's no excuse!"

He frowned. "Do you want me to not worry when my friend is missing?"

Well… it would be easier that way? No, she couldn't say that. " _I wasn't missing!_ I went out with someone for a little while! It wasn't a big deal."

Now Cat was getting agitated, too. "If it's not a big deal, why can't you tell me who you were meeting?"

 _It was you, stupid cat._ "Why can't you butt out!" she retorted. And for one silent second it seemed like he was going to, but then—

"Were you out with your crush?"

She choked. He obviously hadn't meant to imply that she—that she and he—but he had, no matter how accidentally, and—

And, in the first place, how dare he use their conversation yesterday as some kind of _weapon?_ She'd confided in him. She'd shared her stupid embarrassing story and told him her deepest darkest fears about her ridiculous one-sided love, and now he was using it against her?

Had she been with _her crush_ , he asked.

 _"No!"_ she spat _._ "No way!"

"Then why can't you just tell me who it was?"

"Why do you need to know?" she retorted. "I don't go around asking you personal questions."

Cat hesitated. "That's... different."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I can't talk about personal stuff. It's a secret identity thing." His eyes narrowed. "You being _missing_ is completely different."

It was almost funny how wrong he was. "It's not, really."

"It is. I can't talk about some things, but you just won't talk."

"Because I can't."

"No, you _won't_."

"I can't."

"You won't."

"Can't."

"Marinette—"

" _I SAID I CAN'T!"_

Her voice came out louder than she'd intended, startling them both. Cat recoiled; she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Then she heard movement downstairs.

Her stomach lurched, visions of discovery and disaster flashing before her eyes. She was so close to making it through this nightmare of a night without anyone suspecting her secret. She couldn't blow it now.

"Get out, Cat," she whispered.

"But—"

"Out!"

Cat flinched. For a moment, he looked a stray kitten—small and hurt and lost.

Then his face went strangely blank. He stood up, turning his back on her, and stretched languidly before crossing the room with slow strides. He began sauntering up the stairs as if he had all the time in the world, glancing back at her every few seconds to make sure she was watching. The cheeky, arrogant—

Footsteps from downstairs. She wasn't sure if her heart had stopped or was beating too fast to feel. "Hurry! Go!"

"I'm going, _Princess_ ," he drawled, turning the familiar nickname into an insult with a dismissive flick of his tail.

It felt like a cold knife in her chest.

She scowled and stormed up the stairs behind him, forcing him to pick up the pace. "I _said_ , get. Out!"

He didn't dignify this with a response. In silence he went out to the terrace; she slammed the door behind him without watching him go. For a moment she just stood there, rooted to the spot, staring unseeingly at the wall.

She heard the footsteps stop somewhere below her door. "Marinette, honey? Is everything all right? We heard you yelling."

No. "Yes," she called. "Sorry, I just… I was frustrated, and... I messed something up."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She almost laughed. As if she could talk about this with her parents. Or Cat. Or… anyone, besides Tikki.

If she could, she wouldn't be in this mess.

"I'm okay, really," she said.

"Alright. If you change your mind, we're right downstairs."

"I know," she said. But she knew she wouldn't change her mind.

Marinette listened as the footsteps retreated, then flopped down face-first on her bed and let out all her confusion and anger and regret in a wordless scream—muffled by the pillows, so no one would hear her this time.

She'd known letting Cat come over was a bad idea. She'd called that one, right from the start—and now he probably knew it now, too.

He probably wouldn't visit again.

She felt a light weight settle on her shoulder and knew it was Tikki offering silent comfort. It was a kindness—even if Tikki had talked, she had no words to offer in return. How could she even begin to describe this night?

How had everything gone so wrong so fast?


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm back! Hello!**

 **Status update: I've re-figured out where the plot's going** — **mostly, anyway. In theory this'll help me update faster, but in reality who knows. I'm gonna cross my fingers and try to set aside more time for writing, and we'll see how it works out.**

 **A big thank you to all my followers for sticking with me this long. You guys have the patience of saints. Seriously. You're amazing.**

 **And now, the chapter.**

* * *

Cat managed to stew in self-righteous anger for the entire trip back. He fumed. He grumbled. He attacked each jump, digging his claws into brick and shingles to launch himself into the sky—higher, farther, faster—and barely paused for breath after landing.

He made it home in record time.

But just as Cat was slipping back in through his open bedroom window, the doubts he'd been outrunning crashed over him like a tidal wave. Suddenly, the anger was gone. Now he just felt tired. And a little like he wanted to puke.

He'd been right to be upset—right? Going out in the middle of the night was not okay. He'd seen enough of what went on in the city at night during his patrols, and... well, maybe it wasn't a total _cesspool_ of crime and danger, but it wasn't safe, either. He wouldn't want anyone he knew and cared about on the streets, unless they had magical powers and years of combat training.

That being said… he might have overreacted. Just a little.

Or a lot.

Maybe it wasn't his business where Marinette went at night, or who she went with, even if he wished she'd scheduled whatever it was some other time. Maybe concerns about her safety didn't give him any right to show up out of the blue and start yelling at her. Maybe expecting her to answer invasive personal questions was presumptuous and rude—especially since he couldn't exactly reciprocate.

Cat's transformation dissolved, and with it went all of his conviction that he'd done the right thing.

He'd been wrong. Loudly, stupidly, embarrassingly wrong. What the heck had he been _thinking_? She probably hated him now, and he couldn't think of a thing to say in his own defense.

Adrien started pacing restless circles in the center of his room. Plagg hovered by his shoulder, keeping up even as the pacing steadily got faster and faster.

"Calm down, boy," the kwami grumbled. "You'll make me dizzy. What are you worrying about this time?"

He stopped in his tracks. " _What am I worrying about_? You were there, Plagg! I screwed everything up."

"You were an idiot," Plagg confirmed, yawning. "So apologize tomorrow. Or get me cheese now."

"How is cheese supposed to fix anything?"

"Get me some and you'll find out."

Adrien rolled his eyes. "Why did I expect actual advice from you?" He walked over to the bed and flopped onto the blankets, face-down.

A few moments later, Plagg alighted on the back of his head.

"What?" he mumbled.

"You never said 'no' on the cheese."

"What's the point?"

"You'll be doing a good deed. It'll help you feel better about acting like a jealous brat before."

"No, it won't," he said.

Then the second part of that statement sunk in.

Adrien sat upright with a start, causing Plagg to tumble from his perch with a tiny yowl. "What do you mean, jealous?"

Plagg folded his arms. "Cheese first. _"_

Adrien glared. A silent staring contest ensued, with neither of them willing to back down. A minute passed. Two minutes.

Plagg caved first, probably out of hunger. "Fine _."_ He moved to hover in front of Adrien's nose and began to list off the events of the evening, in a tone that said he found the whole thing incredibly tedious. "Let's review. You were frustrated at the start of the patrol from obsessing about who Marinette _likes_." He made air quotes around the word. "Then you got all worried about the girl being missing, stormed into her bedroom with crushes on the brain, and barfed your feelings up like a bad hair ball on her carpet."

Adrien winced. "...and?"

"And? That's jealousy, boy. You yelled at her because you thought she might be out with someone she liked, and you didn't like that because you like her."

"I do not! We're friends, alright? Just friends!"

"So why did you get jealous?"

Before he could reply, Plagg went on. "Well, it was pointless anyway, seeing as you're the crush."

"I— _what_?"

"You're the boy she likes." Plagg scoffed. "Don't give me that face. You've known since this morning."

"No, I haven't!" Adrien protested—though a certain sinking feeling in his gut said otherwise.

"You like her, and she likes you... and you threw a screaming fit. Because that makes sense." Plagg sighed. "Teenagers."

Adrien ran his hands through his hair, trying to find some hole in the logic. Some other explanation.

But Plagg was right. He'd been trying to think of one all day—ever since that morning—and this was the only thing that fit.

Marinette's crush was Adrien Agreste.

He was Adrien Agreste.

Marinette liked him. But—

"She can't," he mumbled, hearing his own voice as though from a distance. "She—I _mean—why?"_

Plagg shrugged. "Maybe she likes your face."

"My face?" Oh, right. The modeling thing. But when he said it like that, it sounded so... shallow. That didn't sound like Marinette.

But what else could it be? They talked a little at school sure, and he considered her a friend, but they weren't that close. Not like he was with Nino. And their conversations usually happened at school. He couldn't tell cheesy puns there, or relax, or do much of anything without worrying about how it would affect his reputation—or, really, his _dad's_ reputation. The company. His modeling career. He couldn't act like himself. Which meant, really—

"She doesn't even know me. How could she like me?"

"Oh, I don't know," Plagg yawned, his eyes half-lidded but fixed squarely on Adrien's. "Maybe the same way you like Ladybug?"

"Huh?"

Plagg didn't dignify that with a response. Instead he made a sharp mid-air turn and headed straight for the bedroom door.

"What are you doing?" Adrien asked.

"Getting my own cheese. Stubbornness and drama make me crave camembert."

"You always want camembert!"

"Exactly."

Adrien made a face as Plagg zoomed off, tail twitching in amusement or exasperation—or a little bit of both. He slipped out of the ever-so-slightly ajar door without even ruffling his fur, leaving Adrien alone with his thoughts.

Adrien didn't really want to think right then. Besides, he had a busy day tomorrow. He ought get to sleep.

He jumped up and started going through his nightly routine, creeping around the room as quietly as possible. He wasn't really worried about being discovered, but in the silent stillness of the night it felt like the thing to do. He got ready for bed, checked and rechecked to make sure all of the books he needed were in his backpack, and finally got comfortable under the covers.

And all the thoughts he'd been carefully _not_ thinking came bursting forth the second he closed his eyes.

Plagg was wrong, of course. His feelings for Ladybug weren't the same thing as Marinette's crush—not at all. For starters, he knew Ladybug. Like...

Okay, so he didn't know her name. Or where she went to school. Or what she liked to eat, or what her favorite song was, or if she had any hobbies. He asked her questions, sure, especially on patrols—about her hopes and her dreams and her ring size—but she always sidestepped them with a witty retort or a half-exasperated sigh.

What did she do for fun? How did she act when her mask came off? Was she like him—a different person, practically? What kind of person?

He had no idea.

Sometimes it felt like it didn't matter. They could fight side by side without so much as a word and work in perfect harmony. In the grand scheme of things, that was more important that knowing Ladybug's favorite color, or her name.

But still, some times—like now—he wondered.

Really, he wasn't any better than Marinette. Even if she did like him for his face. She probably knew way more about him than he did about his own partner.

Did he even know Ladybug at all?

He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, thinking and rethinking and overthinking everything that had happened that day. Eventually he heard a slight creak from the door, and Plagg drifted back into the room. With a lazy yawn, the kwami made his way to the bed, crash-landed on top of Adrien's face, and then crawled over to curl up in the crook of Adrien's neck. He fell asleep almost instantly.

Adrien grimaced as Plagg's cheese breath hit him in the nose. He considered telling Plagg to get off, but there was something oddly comforting in the warm weight of him. Instead he just relaxed—and before he knew it, he was drifting off as well.

. . .

"Hi, _Adrien_."

Adrien looked up from his open notebook, sliding one hand over the corner full of doodled ladybugs and flowers. He felt like a zombie, even though he'd only lost a few hours of sleep. The thought of all the shoots he was scheduled to do that day only made him more exhausted.

Nino kicked him under the table, snapping him out of his daze, and Adrien looked up with a smile. "Hey, Chloe. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," she said airily, leaning on their table with careful coolness. Then she paused. "Actually…"

It took him a second to realize that was his cue; she was dying to talk about something, but wouldn't say a word until he asked. So he asked. "What is it?"

" _Well_ ," Chloe began, her eyes lighting up. Then she let loose a rapid-fire stream of words that tumbled by too fast for Adrien to follow.

He struggled to make his brain work as she chattered on excitedly—about dresses? No, a party. No, a dress? After a second, he pieced it together: she was having a party in honor of a dress she'd gotten custom-made from a new designer.

He'd heard her name around a lot lately: behind the scenes at photo shoots, mostly, and once behind the closed doors of his father's office. He'd even overheard Marinette gushing about this girl and her incredible designs—until Marinette had realized he was standing there and cut herself off with a startled squeak. The designer was young, but already set to be the next big thing.

And apparently, getting a dress designed by her was enough reason to throw a huge party, just to have a place fancy enough to wear it.

"—and there's going to be a band, and it's going to be _amazing_. But the guest list is _very_ exclusive."

A pause—wait, he was supposed t say something again. "Uh... who's going?"

"Of course _you're_ invited," Chloe said quickly. She rattled off a few other names—some semi-famous ones meant to impress him and those of a few classmates. He still wasn't paying attention, honestly. His mind was wandering elsewhere.

One row of seats behind him, to be exact. The place he'd studiously avoided looking from the moment he walked into the room. It was partially from embarrassment over how he'd acted yesterday. But mainly it was Plagg's fault, for saying… those things. About him. Liking her. Which were definitely not true.

Were they?

He couldn't stop thinking about it, especially now that she was right there, just a row away.

So when Chloe stopped for air again and looked at him to demand some response, the first thing that he thought of was, "What about Marinette?"

Chloe blinked. "What about her?"

"Is she invited?"

Chloe squinted at him, then looked away and flipped her ponytail and over one shoulder. Adrien dimly recognized he'd hurt her feelings, somehow—with all his spacing out, maybe, or his general lack of enthusiasm.

Or maybe he was reading too much into things. Sometimes it really was hard to tell if Chloe cared about anything or anyone other than herself.

If there had been hurt in her expression, it definitely wasn't there now. "If Marinette wants to come," she said, loud enough that everyone in the room—Marinette included—could hear her, "then I _guess_ she can come." She smirked. "But it is a _black tie_ event. She'd have to wear something _nice_ for a change."

Adrien winced. "Chloe—"

"What do you mean, _for a change_?" That was Alya's voice—just as loud as Chloe's and twice as sharp. "And of course she has something to wear."

Chloe spoke slowly, like someone trying to teach a toddler what that two and two make. "You might not know this, but 'black tie' means 'fancy'. People will be wearing _real_ designers at my party. Shabby old D.I.Y. clothes aren't going to cut it."

Alya lifted her chin. "I bet you Marinette will be the best-dressed person at your stupid party."

"Oh, really?"

People had stopped in the middle of their conversations to listen in on the drama. It was quiet enough that they could've heard a pin drop, if Marinette had brought any to throw around.

Adrien wracked his brain, trying to think of something to say that could diffuse the situation, but his mind was blank.

Alya had no such troubles. "Yes, really. What do you have to say about that?"

Chloe opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it under Alya's hard stare. She only sniffed, hitched her purse higher on one shoulder, and stalked out of the room.

The silence held for a moment longer. Then:

"She knows class is starting in a minute, right?"

Someone giggled. Slowly, people began to talk again, and the room filled up with sound.

"Man, that girl is something else," Nino muttered, slouching back in his seat with a heavy sigh. "I can't believe we're going to her party."

"We are?"

"Dude, weren't you listening? Fear the Moth Man is playing— _live_. We're going." He frowned. "Wait, am I invited?"

Adrien shrugged.

"Whatever. I'll be your plus one."

"Cool." He'd probably be expected to go anyway, to network with all those important people Chloe had been bragging about. Might as well bring a friend.

Nino grinned and turned around in his chair. "And will you be going?"

"Obviously," Alya said. "I'll be there for moral support! Right, Marinette?"

There was a strangled noise from behind him.

"Right," Alya said. "You're gonna look so amazing. Chloe'll eat her heart out. I can't wait to see her face when—"

" _Why did you do that?"_ Marinette demanded, finally finding her voice. "I don't have a dress for this party! I don't have a work-in-progress. I don't even have any ideas for a project like this!"

Adrien started. Hadn't he seen a whole wall full of amazing formal wear designs just the other day? "What about—?" he began, turning around to join the conversation. But the words died on his tongue when he saw her face.

Marinette looked exhausted. Her skin was paler than usual, making every freckle stand out in stark relief, and there were huge dark circles under her eyes. He couldn't help but stare.

And Marinette was staring right back at him, totally unabashed. Like she was too tired to be nervous around him like she usually was.

Suddenly, he started feeling self-conscious. He had to say something. He'd been about to say something, hadn't he? But how could he, now he knew that Marinette— _Marinette_ , with her blushes and her passionate ranting and her smile and her big blue eyes, gazing into his—liked him? Had liked him, for a long time?

How was he supposed to deal with that? Just put it out of his mind?

Adrien swallowed, hard. He wished he had a mask to hide behind right then.

If things were going to be like this from now on, it would've been better if he'd never found out about her crush.

As he thought this, a sudden realization nearly knocked him flat. Was this how Ladybug felt around Cat Noir? His crush was pretty obvious; he knew Ladybug had to be aware of it. But he'd never really considered how she felt, having to spend so much time with a guy professing his love to her every other minute when she didn't feel the same. Knowing he wanted more than she was willing to give. Marinette was less vocal about her feelings, but the basic situation was the same. He was getting a taste of his own medicine.

Bittersweet, with notes of discomfort and a hint of guilt. He didn't like it.

"Calm down, sweetie," Alya was saying, patting her friend on the back. "I'm sure you'll be able to think of something."

"You think so?"

"I know so." She smiled. "Then we'll rub Chloe's nose in it and make that snotty little princess regret she ever messed with you."

Marinette ran her hands over her face. "There's so much to do. I don't even know if I'll be able to get the fabric on time… when's the party?"

"Three weeks," Nino supplied. "Give or take."

Everyone stared.

"What? Weren't you all listening?"

"You _were_?" Alya asked.

"Well, yeah." Nino puffed up in mock affront. "I'm a very good listener."

Alya snorted. "You are not."

"Am too."

"Are not!" she laughed. Nino laughed with her. When the mirth died down, they just looked at each other, grinning for no reason at all.

Meanwhile, Marinette was having a meltdown. "Three weeks? Only _three weeks_? It's impossible!" She groaned. "This is stupid. I should just stay home."

"No, you should go," Adrien heard himself say.

Marinette looked as surprised as he felt. "Huh?"

"Huh?"

Nino came to the rescue. "We can all meet up there and go together," he suggested.

"That's actually a good idea," Alya said. "Wow. I guess you had to have one sooner or later."

"Hey!"

Just then, the teacher came in, with Chloe trailing behind her—trying to look dignified while making herself as small as possible.

They all turned around in their seats, and the room quieted down again. But as the teacher started to speak, Adrien heard a fierce whispered argument going on behind him.

He strained his ears, trying to look nonchalant, and faintly heard Alya hiss, "—basically invited you to this party! Why aren't you over the moon right now?"

Marinette mumbled something, her voice just barely inaudible.

"Did something happen last night? You look awful."

"Gee, thanks."

"Don't avoid the question."

There was a pause. "I… couldn't sleep."

"Because?"

A frustrated sigh. "I just had a lot on my mind."

Translation: it was all Cat's fault. They'd argued; he'd left; and then, being the sweet, caring person she was, Marinette had probably stayed up all night worrying about whether the fight had been her fault after all.

Not that Marinette would go around broadcasting her visits from Cat Noir. She could be trusted to keep a secret, and let other people keep theirs. Unlike him.

That's what he should have been doing—respecting her secrets—instead of demanding she tell him everything just because he wanted to know. Her privacy wasn't any less important just because she wasn't a superhero. He understood now.

He'd have to be sure to mention it when he slunk back to her house and begged for forgiveness.

Adrien cringed at the prospect. It would be embarrassing, and hard, and she might end up rejecting his apology. And it wouldn't make him feel any less awkward around her, especially when he wasn't transformed. Still, he knew it had to be done.

He'd go tonight—tomorrow, at the latest. Either way, he absolutely had to make this right.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Holy crap, another update! Now with more pages, more angst, and more sleep-deprived teenagers.**

 **(Why do my longest chapters always take place in Marinette's room?)**

 **Also, I have something I want to ask you guys after the chapter, so please stay tuned for the a/n at the end.**

 **And now, the chapter.**

* * *

It had been seven days since Cat's last visit. Not that she was counting.

In fact, Marinette was much too busy to be thinking about a certain infuriating cat boy. She was _doing_ things. Sewing things.

What things? Well… a black fleece blanket with green paw print patches. But that had absolutely nothing to do with Cat Noir.

She'd had the fabric sitting around, see, and figured now was as good a time as any to make a blanket. Cold outside. And blankets were basically giant rectangles—she'd doubled this one for extra warmth—so all she had to do was sew a few straight lines, and bam. A nice, relaxing project with no thinking required.

Unfortunately, that left her mind free to dwell on a certain infuriating cat boy.

She missed his visits. She missed… him.

God, what a weird feeling.

Before she'd gotten to know him as Marinette, he'd been her partner. They worked together, and she supposed she would call them friends, but she'd never wished he was around when he wasn't—except when he was late for an akuma fight. But then he'd started visiting, and she'd somehow started to enjoy his company. And she'd gotten used to it—expected it, like she expected him to have her back while they battled. He'd visited so often he'd never been gone long enough to miss.

She'd never even thought about Cat _not_ being around.

Tikki floated into her field of vision then, antennae drooping as she yawned. "I'm gonna go to bed now," the kwami murmured, her words blurring and slurring together as she bobbed in the air—drifting down, down, then back up again as she jolted awake again. "You should, too."

"I will," Marinette whispered. "Just… later."

"You need to get more sleep, Mari."

"Well, so do you." Tikki had been trying to stay up and keep her company the past few nights, but ladybugs weren't really meant to be nocturnal. It had been hard on them both.

"So do you," Tikki mumbled back, covering another huge yawn with both hands. "Because you gotta be Ladybug, and you gotta be you, too. And without sleep you're just gonna be a zombie."

Marinette snorted, a little smile teasing the corners of her lips. "I'll sleep soon, alright?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"M'kay. But you promised." Tikki pointed at her sternly, then turned and flew up the stairs. She narrowly missed bumping into the wall, then dove into a pile of pillows on the bed with a happy little sigh.

Marinette watched her go, her gaze lingering on her bed. Her shoulders ached from hunching over a needle all night, and her eyes itched and burned. Sleep sounded amazing. But she knew she would wait up a few more hours, just like last night. Just in case. Because even if they were fighting, they were still friends.

Weren't they?

It didn't seem like the right word for their relationship, although she couldn't say why. It just wasn't quite _enough_. But "good friends" or "best friends" sounded strange, too.

If someone asked her who her best friend was, she'd tell them _Alya_ without a second thought. She'd always admired Alya's confidence—just being around her made you feel braver—and could always count on her to be the voice of reason. Even if her recklessness did drive Marinette completely nuts. Like this—this competition with Chloe that she still hadn't agreed to, but apparently it was happening anyway and oh god oh dear _god_ what was she gonna _do_ —

Marinette quickly shut that thought down. She'd been doing the same thing for the past week. It maybe wasn't the best idea to procrastinate and sew blankets when she didn't even have a shadow of a plan, but if she worried about too many things at once her head might explode. And right now she was worrying that, whatever the heck she and Cat had, she'd never truly appreciated it until he was gone.

That wasn't to say she wasn't mad at Cat. Oh, no. Anger was _definitely_ a part of this. He'd yelled at her and guilt-tripped her in her own room, and he hadn't even tried to apologize yet.

But worst of all? She missed him, and he wasn't there.

Stupid Cat.

Marinette shook her head, trying to focus on her stitches. She was hand-sewing the definitely-not -Cat-Noir-themed blanket, since her sewing machine was loud and hearing it when she was supposed to be asleep would make her parents worry. It took concentration to keep her stitches small, neat, and even. But her focus was gone just a moment later.

Instead, her brain decided to relive the last time she'd seen Cat Noir.

It was only a few days after their fight. An akuma had gone on a rampage after school, and as always Ladybug and Cat Noir showed up to save the day. They hadn't talked much before diving into battle, and purifying the akuma couldn't have taken more than ten minutes—one of the easiest battles they'd ever had. Even though she knew for a fact she'd missed two easy openings and let her guard down more times than she wanted to count. Hawkmoth wasn't even trying lately.

Which was... kind of suspicious, actually. But she'd been too preoccupied with what happened next to worry about it.

She and Cat had done the victory fist bump, waved to all their fans, and assured the disoriented florist that it wasn't his fault and, anyway, no real harm had been done. But before they went their separate ways, as usual, Cat had pulled her aside into a nearby alley.

He'd shifted uncomfortably on his feet for a while, not talking and not meeting her gaze.

Eventually she'd rolled her eyes at him and tapped an earring pointedly—four spots. "Spit it out, Cat. Or are we going to stand here all night?"

"Sorry, my lady. I… uh… I wanted to apologize. For our last patrol." He'd put a hand to the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. "Sorry I bailed on you."

Out of everything he'd done that night, _this_ was what he apologized for? This was who he apologized _to_?

She'd felt a flash of surprise, and then something else—something painful, smoldering deep in her gut. _So Ladybug deserves an apology, but not Marinette?_ she'd thought. _Is that how this works?_

Aloud she'd said, "No problem, Cat." And then, because she couldn't resist: "Did you end up finding that girl you were looking for? Your _friend_?"

He'd flinched, and she'd glowed with mean satisfaction. "Uh… yeah. I did."

"Good. Is that all?"

Too abrupt—he'd blinked, frowning at her with hurt and confusion written on his face. She should've tried harder to act normal: after all, Cat hadn't been yelling at _Ladybug_ in her own damn house for no reason. But shoving her feelings down only compressed them into something harder and sharper.

Secret identities came first, though. _Stay calm. Act normal._ She'd tapped her earring again—two spots—hoping to explain away her impatience.

"I wanted to ask you something."

A shrug. "Okay? What?"

Cat had opened his mouth, then closed it again, and finally just shook his head.

So Ladybug had folded her arms and waited.

And waited.

He'd been squirming again, mumbling something under his breath, but he couldn't seem to speak up. What had his tail in a knot?

She'd heard Tikki in her head, warning her that her time was running out. Cat still hadn't said anything.

"Well, I should probably…" she'd trailed off, pulling out her yoyo to find a more private place for turning back. But then, finally, Cat had gathered his courage.

" _DoImakeyouuncomfortable_?"

"…what?"

"I mean, uh. With the…" He'd swallowed—loudly. "F-flirting. All the time. Does it… bother you?"

 _What_?

She'd tried a joke: "Who are you and what have you done to my partner?" But when Cat had just kept looking at her, waiting, she'd realized he wanted a serious answer.

And thinking of "Cat" and "serious" in the same sentence had _seriously_ weirded her out.

She'd cleared her throat. "I, um. I don't know? I mean, not really. It's just how you are, you know? Sometimes the timing is kind of weird—like, during fighting, it can be sort of… um, distracting. But it's fine, I'm used to it. It's not a big deal. I don't even notice anymore—well no, I do, but—um."

She'd been babbling. _Babbling!_ She didn't _babble_ —or Ladybug didn't, anyway.

 _What is going on?_

Cat had looked just as confused as she'd felt. "Are you sure—"

"I have to go," she'd blurted. And then she'd fled, flying through the air like her life depended on it.

Just the memory of it made her face burn.

But mostly, it left her confused. Why was Cat suddenly acting so—so unlike himself? Like he was just a normal guy, with problems and homework and worries hidden under his puns and bravado?

Well... probably because he was. She knew that—had known it for a while. But apparently it hadn't really sunk in before now, because here she was, thrown by the notion that Cat actually had feelings.

 _Real nice, Marinette. Way to be a good partner. Or friend. Or_ whatever.

Maybe she wasn't always as considerate of Cat as she ought to be. She could admit that. She could even admit that his reaction the night of their argument maybe sort of made sense. As far as Cat knew, she was just a regular citizen who'd been wandering around dark alleyways, looking for trouble. If Alya had been running around in the middle of the night for the Ladyblog, Marinette's reaction would probably have been the same as Cat's. Only she probably would've set up booby traps around all the windows and doors, and maybe tied her friend to a chair before she left. Just to be safe.

But that would have been a _bad_ way to handle things. Just like yelling and throwing around accusations had been a bad way to handle her "disappearance." So Cat had still been a jerk.

And anyway, what was he doing was he apologizing to _Ladybug_? Ladybug! Marinette was the one he should be talking to. It was totally unfair of him to play favorites like—

Wait.

Was she… jealous? Of Ladybug?

Over _Cat Noir_?

Marinette shook her head, stabbing her needle through the fabric more forcefully than she meant to. It went all the way through and stabbed her in the leg, because life was awful like that.

" _Ow_!" She scowled down at the blanket.

Then she sighed, long and loud. Who was she kidding? This stupid project had been done yesterday. She just didn't want to go to sleep because some small part of her hoped Cat might visit today.

So she'd stayed up and worried, just like she had yesterday—and the day before, and the day before that. She was _sick_ of worrying.

Marinette jumped to her feet, nearly stumbling on legs that had fallen asleep half an hour ago, and shook out the probably-Cat-Noir-themed blanket. It had turned out pretty well, considering how much her mind had wandered. She tied off the loose end of thread, then draped the fleece over her shoulders.

Nice and warm.

Now, should she take the time to change into pjs, or collapse in bed fully clothed?

She yawned widely and settled on a compromise: letting her hair down, then pulling on a pair of pink striped pajama bottoms—the ones she'd worn once already and left in a crumpled heap by her bed—and calling it good.

But just as she was about to dive under the covers, she heard a quiet _thud_ outside.

 _What the—?_

Then came another sound, so soft she wondered if it was even supposed to be heard. But there it was again: the unmistakable sound of someone knocking at her terrace door.

Only one person could possibly be at that door, at this hour.

For a moment Marinette was frozen in place. Then she leapt into action, dashing back down the stairs and ripping the blanket from her shoulders as she went. She was half afraid he would leave if she didn't open the door fast enough, but there was no way she was greeting Cat Noir after their biggest fight ever with a Cat Noir blanket cape. No way in hell. It was going to be sitting on her desk chair, folded up as small as she could get it, and she was going to open the door with as much dignity as a person could have in pink pajama pants.

Which—after a few deep breaths and a silent pep-talk—is exactly what she did.

And there he was.

"Hi," said Cat, gazing at her with wide, worried eyes. His cheeks were red with cold, as if he'd been standing outside for a while before he'd knocked. "Can I come in?"

"Are you going to start yelling again?" She saw him flinch and shrink back a little and quickly waved a hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean that. Come in, Cat."

He did, stepping lightly with his eyes darting all around. What was he expecting? Booby traps? Tripwires? She wasn't _that_ angry.

Okay, it might have crossed her mind, but she'd never actually _set_ any traps, and that was what really counted.

"Want to sit down?" she asked.

Cat's eyes darted to the bed, and his face seemed to flush an even deeper red.

And Marinette remembered that Tikki was less than a foot away, snoring softly. "Downstairs!" she blurted, twisting awkwardly to try to shield her sleeping kwami from view. "Let's sit downstairs. Right now."

"Good idea," Cat said quickly.

They both practically flew down the stairs and sat down on the chaise. Cat perched on the very edge of the cushion, facing forward; Marinette did the same, her back poker-straight and both hands on her kneecaps. They were so far apart, two more people could have sat down between them.

"So," Cat began.

"So," Marinette echoed.

Awkward silence reigned.

Then Cat took a deep breath, turned to face her, and let it all out. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight and I kept pushing when you told me to let it go and I should've just trusted you even though I was worried because that's not an excuse and I promise I won't ever do it again and if it helps I feel really bad and I'm really really sorry—"

Marinette listened to him ramble, nodding along with an unreadable expression. Finally, she held up a hand. "Cat, enough. I forgive you."

"You do?" He blinked. "You're not mad?"

"…not going to lie, I was. But I kind of get where you were coming from, and I don't want to be mad at you anymore. And you apologized. So, yeah. We're good."

"Oh." Cat let out a sigh of relief, sagging into the cushions as he finally relaxed. "That's… good."

"Really good," Marinette agreed. She waited for Cat to say something else, but for once it seemed like he had nothing to say.

The silence didn't bother her, but the distance between them did. On impulse, she scooted over to sit beside Cat and leaned against his shoulder.

After a moment, he leaned back against her. "You know," he said, "it feels like forever since I last talked to you."

Marinette smiled. "It didn't have to be forever. But _noooo_ , you had to avoid me."

"I was scared you'd be mad!" Cat nudged her shoulder. "And you said you were mad before, so there. I was right."

"Yeah, I guess. But—come on." She nudged him back. "Am I really _that_ scary?"

"Terrifying," he deadpanned.

"Good."

Cat laughed.

They slipped into silence again; it was comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn't need words. Marinette felt better than she had in days. Cat hadn't magically solved all her problems or anything. But with her partner-friend- _whatever_ by her side, it felt like maybe things were going to be okay.

She was so relaxed, in fact, that all the sleep she'd been missing for the past week was coming back to haunt her. Her eyelids drooped; her breathing slowed. She may have snuggled into Cat's side a little. The leather suit wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy, but at this point she was too tired to care.

"Hey," Cat said.

"Mm?"

"Say something."

"Something," she mumbled.

"No, I'm serious. See? This is my serious face."

Marinette cracked an eye open and hummed, unimpressed. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. I want to talk with you—really talk. What's been going on lately? Anything interesting?"

And suddenly Marinette was wide awake. "Oh my god _, yes_. You would not _believe_ the week I've been having." Now she thought about it, she was bursting with things to tell him: the contest with Chloe, and how Alya was the best but she _really_ had to stop doing this stuff, and how maybe Adrien was paying her more attention lately but she'd been kind of tired and it might just be her imagination—

So she told him. She told him everything, down to the last detail, until her throat was hoarse from the telling.

"So what are you going to do?" Cat asked when she was through. "About this contest, or bet, or whatever. Are you even going to the party?"

"I kind of have to. Everyone heard about it, and I told my friends I would. And Chloe even sent me a hate-vite."

"A what?"

"A hate invite. Like, she sent an invitation in the mail to tell me where and when the party is, and it's printed on really nice paper and everything, except instead of 'RSVP' it just says ' _be there_ ' in this really condescending font."

"Sounds like her," Cat muttered. Then he paused. "How can a font be condescending?"

"I don't know, it's like—bold, and curly, and—it just is!"

"Okay, okay. So you're going to her party. What are you going to wear?"

Marinette groaned. "I have no idea. Like—nothing. Blank. I'm doomed."

"But you still have those designs from before, right? By your desk?"

Cat stood up and strode over to point out the designs in question, and Marinette's thoughts flew to the blanket on her desk chair. What if he saw it? Her mind raced, trying to come up with a good excuse—it had been a gift? It came free with a Ladybug blanket? It was a priceless family heirloom that she'd had long before Paris had ever heard the name Cat Noir?

"What about this one?" Cat was saying. He carefully slipped his fingers under the paper and unsticking it from the wall—and then he froze, staring at the magazine clipping he'd just uncovered.

Oh god. _The_ _pictures_.

"I, um—those are just—" Marinette stammered.

Cat wasn't listening. He slowly reached up and took down another design. Stared. Then, silently, he lifted her sketches from the wall until all the pictures of Adrien were revealed.

Every. Single. One.

In hindsight, the Wall of Agreste had definitely been a little much.

"It's not—I like the clothes he's modeling?" Marinette tried. It sounded unconvincing, even to her ears.

Cat cleared his throat. " _So_ ," he said, drawing the word out.

"So," she said.

"That's a lot of pictures."

"I—I guess it is?" She laughed feebly. "Wow, how did those get there?"

Cat shot her a look. "I'm guessing this is the guy you like?"

She nodded—then realized Cat was staring at the wall again. "Yeah," she said aloud. "That's him."

"He's… pretty."

"Oh, shut up," she muttered. Her face was on fire. "It's not just that, okay? I told you before. He's—he's really great."

"I didn't say anything."

There was a long pause.

 _This is how it ends,_ thought Marinette, eerily calm. _I'm going to die of embarrassment. Right here, right now._

 _At least I won't have to face Chloe._

"Anyway!" Cat said in a too-loud, too-casual voice, turning away from the wall with a few sketches in his hand. "About the dresses. Why don't you just use one of these designs?"

An obvious subject change. Cat was trying to be merciful—and she was not about to let it go to waste. "Oh, _those_ designs!" she said, her own voice a little higher than usual. "I wasn't really going to do anything with those. They're just for fun."

"But they're amazing," Cat insisted. "What about this one?" He held up a page which had one of the floofier designs on it. She'd been thinking of marshmallows and Persian cats and princesses while she drew that one, and it definitely showed.

"Not that one." Marinette shook her head and pointed toward a drawing in his other hand. "If I had to pick, I'd go with that design."

"Then pick this one."

"It's not that simple, kitty. To get that done in two weeks? I'd need to start making it, like, yesterday. And I don't even have the right fabrics! How am I supposed to get three yards of high-end silk—which is a pain in the ass to work with, by the way—and embroidered lace on short notice?" She threw her arms up in exasperation. "And how am I supposed to afford that, anyway?"

"Can't you make substitutions? Use cheaper materials?"

She felt her nose wrinkle up. "It would drape differently, and I'd have to adjust the pattern for that, and—it just wouldn't be the same. I mean, it's a contest, and a lot of important people will probably be there. It has to be my best work."

Cat didn't say anything for a while, though it was obvious the gears in his head were turning. When he spoke again, he chose his words carefully. "Don't you know anyone who could help you? Someone in the fashion industry, who could ask around and help you get what you need?"

She stared at him, confused—until he gestured back at her Wall of Agreste. Then her eyes went wide as saucers. "Ask—? No. No, I couldn't. The odds of someone actually having extra of exactly what I need, and him just happening to know that someone—it's ridiculous, Cat. Besides." She lowered her voice. "I'd actually have to, you know… ask him. _Talk_ to him."

Cat stared at her for a second, then started to laugh.

"It's not funny!" she hissed.

"But it is!" he choked out, almost doubled over with mirth.

"Don't test me, kitty. I have a watering can, and I will soak you."

Cat sobered a little at that, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Seriously, Princess. Is this guy you like _that_ scary?"

"No! _"_ she said, instinctively going on the defensive. "It's just that I'm just no good at talking to him—like, in full, coherent sentences. And even if I manage it, I don't want to use him for his connections. That's just wrong."

Her words seemed to surprise him. "That's really nice of you, and I think he'd appreciate the thought. But what if he wants to help?"

"What if he doesn't?"

"What if he does? You won't know until you ask."

"But…" She wracked her brain, trying to find a good excuse besides "it's scary."

Instead, she found an entirely different idea.

"What about a suit?" Marinette scrambled to her feet and nearly tripped over herself trying to reach the desk while Cat looked on in confusion. She snatched up a pencil and flipped over a stray dress doodle. "I could made myself a suit—you know, vest, pants, jacket. Maybe some tails on the coat, probably a tie—"

"Are you just saying this so you won't have to talk to Adrien?"

"It's not that." Her pencil danced across the page as she spoke. "Nobody would be expecting this; I'd have the element of surprise. And I'd get to wear actual pants instead of freezing my legs off, which is a bonus. And—" she scratched out a few calculations in the corner "—I'd have to ask for help anyway, since I don't have the enough material for this. I wouldn't need as much—this would be more fitted than the dress, and I have some of what I need—and it would be cheaper. But it would take a lot of work to get it fitted properly."

Cat came to peer over her shoulder. "Nice lines."

"Thanks."

"This could work," he said, sounding a little surprised himself. "This could actually work."

" _Right_?"

"But are you sure you don't want to use the dress?"

Marinette paused, glancing over at the sketch Cat still held. It would be amazing, she had to admit. If she could pull it off… well, even facing down Chloe might not be so hard. Not if she was wearing that.

But her new idea was something exciting, something different _._ A challenge. She wanted to at least give it a shot.

"I'll design first, decide later," she said, shifting the paper to one side to get the curve of the vest right.

"You can't put it off forever," Cat warned. "Time moves, whether you're working on what you're supposed to or not."

"Amazing. I never would have thought."

"See, you say that, but you don't act like it."

"I do too."

"You don't." He stood at her shoulder again and watched her hands as she worked, close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her neck—

She yelped and jumped away, feeling awfully warm all of a sudden. " _Cat!_ I can't concentrate with you hovering. Go save the city or something."

There was no real venom in her voice, and Cat could tell. He was smirking as he stepped back, holding up both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright," he said. " _Suit_ yourself."

"... _Cat._ "

"Hey, that was a good one! 'Cause you'll be working on your suit? By yourself?"

"Cat, _please."_

He waited a beat, then sighed in mock distress. "You'll appreciate my puns someday, Princess."

"But they're awful."

"I think you mean _paw_ -ful."

It was around then she started looking for something to throw at him.

Instead, she saw the black, fuzzy bundle sitting on the desk chair: the blanket. And for the second time that night, she had a flash of inspiration. Before she could second-guess herself, she snatched up her Cat Noir blanket and held it out to the actual Cat Noir. "Take this and get out."

"What is it?"

She shook out the blanket and held it up to show him the paw prints. "It's you. Well, sort of. I made it, and I thought maybe you would like it, so… here. Take it." She bundled it into his arms quickly and stepped back, fighting a sudden wave of embarrassment. This was weird, wasn't it? It was definitely weird. Why was she doing this again?

She risked a glance at Cat, trying to gauge his reaction. He had a strange expression on his face—a sort of silent _oh_ , with his mouth hanging open and his eyes round and shining. His gaze never left her impromptu present.

It was… _cute_.

Marinette blinked. _Whoa_. Where had that thought come from?

Not that she disagreed with it, but—

She shook her head, forcibly derailing that train of thought. "So?" she asked, breaking the silence. "Do you like it?"

Cat looked up, hugging the blanket to his chest. "Thank you. I _love_ it."

And for some reason, when he said that, Marinette's heart skipped a beat.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi again! First off, has anyone told you you're amazing today? Because you are. Every single person reading this is spectacular. And reviewers?** _ **Phenomenal**_ **. This has been a PSA.**

 **Anyway, here's my question for you guys: should Marinette wear a gown or a suit to this party? My first instinct is to go gown—imagine Adrien's** _ **face**_ **when he sees her wearing it, holy cuteness—but Mari showing up to this event in a perfectly tailored suit that just seems so… cool. Like, screw your contest and your expectations, I made this and it's awesome. (Imagine** _ **Chloe's**_ **face** _ **.)**_

 **I think we all agree Marinette could rock either outfit, but since I can't seem to decide on one, I want to know what you think. If you've got an opinion one way or another—or any other feedback/comments/reactions—drop a review or pm and let me know!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Not dead ~**

 **Okay, so—the results of the survey! Honestly, idk the exact numbers—I just wanted to work through some ideas, and group brainstorming seemed like the best way. One thing I can tell you, though: I will not be choosing secret option C (combining suit and dress), because even after research I have no idea how I'd even manage that. (I basically wore cargo shorts for the first ten years of my life, okay. Fashion is not my forte.)**

 **That being said, I… kind of did pick both, since the option I'm not using here is going in the epilogue later. I wasn't planning to have an epilogue, but here we are.**

 **Also: I think took some liberties with the layout of Adrien's room later on. I did have a reference picture pulled up, but… eh, it's probably fine.**

 **Lastly, I have an account on AO3 now, so I'll probably start posting the chapter over there as well! (Sans author's notes because these are getting seriously out of hand.) So if you see this story on that site… fear not. It is I.**

 **And now, the chapter.**

* * *

So far, operation Get To Know Marinette had been more successful than Adrien had ever thought possible. Not that it was over. But for now, he decided, it had to take second place to a new mission: operation Don't Act Weird around Marinette Even Though You Probably Like Her and She Maybe Likes You Too but It Might Just Be Your Face—And No Pressure, but the Only Girl Who Has Never Seen Your Face is Ladybug and She Is Not a Huge Fan of You Which Implies Some Pretty Questionable Things About Your Personality.

Operation DAWAMETYPLHASMLYTBIMJBYF—ANPBTOGWHNSYFILASINAHFOYWISPQTAYP for short.

He'd come up with the name and plan when Marinette had marched up to him in the hallway between classes the day after she and Cat had made up, with a determined set to her chin and raccoon circles under her eyes.

Well, actually, his first thought had been to turn tail and run.

Second thought? _I should use that next battle—turn tail. When I've actually got a tail. It'll be great._

The reshuffling of priorities came third, riding in swiftly on a wave of nervous energy.

It didn't make sense. Last night he'd decided he _wouldn't_ worry anymore. Not about the twisted, unrequited love triangle—rectangle? Whatever, some shape—that his partner, his friend, and both of his identities were tangled in. Not about having possibly-maybe-feelings for a girl other than Ladybug, and how it felt like cheating and flying and falling all at once. And especially not about whether Marinette liked him as a person or as the perfect, lifeless mannequin he had to play most days.

He'd conveniently forgotten that deciding not to worry was kind of like deciding it wouldn't rain tomorrow, despite all forecasts pointing to showers. And now Marinette surged toward him like an oncoming storm.

She stopped in front of him with her hands fluttering and fidgeting like they had a life all their own—adjusting her purse, straightening her shirt, twisting around each other then flying apart to clench, unclench, and repeat at her sides. After a moment, she slid her feet apart in what was almost a fighter's stance and met his eyes squarely.

Her hair was down—just like last night.

The thought brought a wave of memories crashing across his brain: Marinette in dressed in fuzzy pjs. Marinette with her eyes closed, resting her head on his shoulder as she dozed. Marinette with her eyes alight, chewing on her lower lip as she sketched a design. Marinette, avoiding his eyes as she held out a black and green blanket, face dusted with pink.

All of which was making it hard to focus on Marinette, standing in front of him right now—or even meet her eyes for too long. He was sure she'd be able to see his thoughts written all over his face.

"Adrien." He jumped a bit. "Hi."

"Hey," he returned.

Marinette nodded, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and he felt himself start to sweat. Was he acting normal? Was this normal enough? Why hadn't he come up with a better plan than _acting normal—_ something that was actually possible?

No, he knew why: Plagg wouldn't cooperate when he'd tried to brainstorm plans last night, and he hadn't been able to come up with anything else on his own. Ladybug would have a plan. Marinette would probably have one, too. But he was the catlike reflexes and clawing-stuff guy, not the planning guy, and he couldn't exactly ask the girls he was crushing on how to handle it.

This was fine. He was handling this.

Meanwhile, Marinette had psyched herself up enough to speak again. "So," she began. "I… wanted to ask you a favor. And you can totally say no if you want—like, it's not _that_ big a deal, and I know it's out of the blue and weird and I'd understand, but—do you know where I can get five yards of high quality gray wool on short notice?"

It took him a second too long to respond. "Yeah!" he said quickly. "I mean, yeah, I know a guy. I'd love to help."

She blinked. "Really?"

"Of course."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"… really?"

"Really," he confirmed. "This is about Chloe's party, right? The competition thing?"

Marinette sighed. "Yeah. The _competition_. I need to get started on my _entry_ ," she muttered, pushing a hand through her hair. "Because of course it had to be a whole big _competition_ with judges and audiences and hate-vites."

"Well, escalating is kind of Chloe's thing."

Marinette jumped—like she hadn't realized he could hear her.

"It's okay," he added. "Chloe… isn't the nicest person sometimes. I think she has her reasons." He paused. "I mean, I don't think they're _good_ reasons, and they doesn't make what she does right. She can be… well. You know."

Marinette's expression went flat. "Yeah. I know."

Adrien winced. Trying to defend Chloe to Marinette, one of her favorite targets, was not his best idea. But it also wasn't his _intention_. "It's not—I'm just saying, when she does stuff like this, it's probably more about her and whatever's going on in her head than about you. If that helps."

"Because everything's about her," Marinette mumbled.

He couldn't really argue with that.

A long silence followed.

"Um, anyway—fabric," Marinette said abruptly, mustering her courage once more. "The gray is the biggest thing. But there are actually a few others? No pressure. I made a list." She fished a scrap of paper from her back pocket and handed it over.

Adrien scanned the bullet points and nodded. "None of this should be a problem. When do you want me to bring it?" He answered his own question. "Probably as soon as possible, right? I can have it all later today if I make some calls—but since there's so much, it'd be kind of awkward to bring it all to school. Should I take it to your house?"

Marinette's eyes went wide, and he wondered if he'd overstepped. He worried even more when she just stood there, swaying on her feet. Staring at nothing.

"Marinette?" he said. "We can do something else, if you want."

She jumped again. "Sorry. That's fine, it's fine. Sorry, it's not you, I just—god, I'm so tired." She shoved a hand through her hair again and then paused. She reached behind her head and patted at her loose locks.

"Marinette?" he said again.

"I forgot my hair ties. And I didn't even notice."

"Yes," he said—though it hadn't really been a question.

" _Why_." Her head fell back and she gazed at the ceiling, as if it might have an answer.

It was then Adrien's mouth decided to betray him. "It's nice," he found himself saying. "Your hair. You look pretty."

Marinette froze. Slowly— _slowly_ —she looked at him. A fierce blush spread across her face, all the way to the tips of her ears. Her mouth opened and closed a few times.

Marinette had short-circuited.

Adrien was flustered, too—but he racked his brain for something to say, because she looked like she was a second away from bolting, and… he didn't want her to go yet. Even if his heart was beating so fast he half-thought he was having a heart attack.

"How's your design going?" he asked.

Marinette blinked, and gradually she came to life again. "Um. Good. I think. I spent most of last night researching free patterns and reading blogs. I think I have all the basic techniques I'll need down, since I've made a lot of other stuff, but I'm still working out how to put everything together. And I'm not totally sure it'll look right, since I haven't put the stitches and seams and hems together quite in that way before—especially the jacket, and the vest, since I've obviously made pants before. I mean—come on. So I mean—it's probably going good?"

"That's good." He smiled. Then he remembered she'd told _Cat_ about her plans last night, not Adrien, and he should probably try to act like it. "Wait, so you're designing a suit for the party? That's so interesting. Probably not what Chloe had in mind when she made the competition, right?"

He was a terrible, terrible actor.

Marinette smiled grimly. "I might be playing Chloe's little game, but I don't have to play by her rules." The steely glint in her eyes made his stomach do flips. In a good way.

Adrien swallowed. "Cool."

"Yeah… maybe," she said. "I'd feel better if I could actually look at some real suits, or something. Turn one inside out, see how it falls. Make sure I'm visualizing things right. Sometimes stuff in my head isn't the same as stuff outside it, and stuff on paper doesn't work off of it. I usually work bugs out during the construction stage, but I just don't have that kind of time with this project…"

Her eyes went round suddenly. "Oh my god," she mumbled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to, like, ramble on and on and bore you and—I'm still doing it, aren't I. Um. I should stop talking now. Sorry."

Adrien frowned. "No, I was asking about it. And I like hearing about your projects. You don't have to apologize for it."

"It's nice of you to say," she told him _._ "I should, um, go. Now."

She took a few steps back—and once again Adrien spoke without thinking. "You should come to my house today!"

Marinette stared.

Words. He needed words. "I mean—sometimes I get to keep clothes after a photoshoot is over. I wound up with a lot of suits. I'm supposed to wear them around, so it'll be good publicity or whatever, but I'm not going to wear _suits_ every day, so most of the time they just sit there. You could come look at how they're made and stuff. If that would help your designing."

"Thanks, but… I couldn't. Really," she said—but she'd stopped walking and made no move to leave.

"It wouldn't be a hassle or anything. It would be nice if somebody got some use out of them." He shrugged, trying to keep it casual.

Wait. Did he even have free time today after school? He mentally ran through his schedule. What about—no, that had been moved to Saturday. But his—no, wait, his tutor had just called in sick that morning. Not so great for her, but it helped him. And his dad was at a conference, so he wouldn't even be home to make things weird.

Or accidently cause a friend of Adrien's to turn into an akuma. _Again_.

Ha, yes! For once the schedule gods were smiling on him. This was the perfect day to invite someone over.

Marinette's face was an odd mixture of intrigued and terrified, the sort of expression only she could pull off. "It would probably help…"

"Then come. If you want, I mean."

A barrage of complex emotions flickered across her face as she considered. It was amazing, really, how expressive Marinette was—how much she could say without speaking a word. He could watch her all day and not be bored for a second.

Not that he would do that. Or anything. Because that would be creepy.

"It's kind of short notice, and I'd have to call my parents first," Marinette finally said, "but... I'd like that. Coming over."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They both stood there for a moment, smiling shyly at their shoes.

It was actually Marinette who broke the silence. "I should probably—"

"Oh! Yeah. See you. Later. Maybe?"

"See you later." Marinette scurried away.

Adrien turned to do the same. But first, he glanced over his shoulder—just in time to see her punch the air and do a little victory dance.

This was definitely the best idea he'd ever had.

. . .

This was the worst idea he'd ever had.

Everything had been going well up until a few minutes ago. He and Marinette had taken the limo back to his house. She'd been silent all the way there—but their earlier conversation had gone so well, it seemed only fair to make up for all the awkward silence they hadn't had before. The calls he'd made during lunch had paid off, and they'd been greeted in the entrance hall by a table piled high with rolls of fabric. He'd led her up to his room in high spirits.

He'd even remembered to run ahead and hide the blanket Marinette had given him—well, given Cat—before she could see it. With enough extra time to hug it again before he pushed it under his bed.

But then he'd shown Marinette to the walk-in closet, where she'd pored over the clothes there like they held the secret to life itself. He found himself watching her examine them—her frown of concentration, the way her nose wrinkled up just a little. He was so distracted he didn't hear her request the first time: To work out what parts of its construction she'd have to change for her own design, she wanted to try it on. He'd agreed—and that was when things went south.

Now Marinette was _taking her clothes off_ in his closet while he sat here, on the couch, regretting everything.

His face was boiled-lobster red and showed no signs of fading.

At least Plagg wasn't here to tease him about it. The little pest had been dancing in and out of sight since they'd walked through the door, grinning at Adrien's panic from over Marinette's shoulder or above her head. As soon as Marinette was out of earshot, he'd bribed his kwami with enough cheese to make him sick provided got out and stayed out. One less thing to worry about.

But that also meant he and Marinette were alone, which was one more thing to worry about.

He just couldn't win.

With a thump and a clattering of wooden hangers on hangers that made him jump like a startled cat, Marinette burst out of the closet door. She made a beeline for her backpack, grabbing the first notebook she found, and began furiously scribbling down notes.

Meanwhile, Adrien forgot how to breathe.

The suit fit her surprisingly well. Sure, it drooped in the shoulders, and the sleeves and pants were just a little too long. It fit a bit too snugly around the chest. But it looked… good. Her hair was still down, and her eyes had that faraway look of concentration she got when she was designing.

She was wearing his clothes.

Okay, he had basically invited her over to do just that. He knew that. But actually seeing it was just—it was—

 _Wow_.

Like fireworks going off in his chest.

And… other things. Happening. In other places.

Thankfully Marinette was distracted. She still stood over her discarded backpack, notebook propped on one arm and pen flying across the paper. She wrote and sketched and wrote some more, giving him plenty of time to regain his composure.

"Alright," she announced, closing her notebook and hooking the pen over the cover. "I think I've got some good ideas to go off of. Thanks for letting me do this."

"Uh—no problem."

"Right. So. That's done." She picked at her sleeve—or, technically, his sleeve. "I should—you probably have stuff to do now, right?"

"Actually," he said, "I don't. For once. So you could stay and hang out a while, if you wanted." He gestured around vaguely with both hands. "I mean, I have plenty of room."

Marinette's eyes followed his hand-waving and went comically wide.

She'd been so focused on the task at hand earlier—and staring at the floor the rest of the time—she'd somehow managed to _not_ notice his room wasn't your average bedroom. Now she finally looked around at the impossibly tall ceilings and all the things beneath them, utterly speechless.

Adrien squirmed. He knew he had a lot of stuff that other families couldn't afford, and bringing friends home always made him feel sort of like he was rubbing it in their faces.

Marinette turned suddenly and raced up the spiral staircase. She peered down at him over the clear balcony wall, and—wait, was she laughing?

"What's up?" he called. "Besides you."

"Your room is awesome!" She gestured to the towering bookshelves behind her. "Look at all this!" The computer setup. "Look at that!" The basketball hoop. "What is that even doing here?"

He was pretty much used to it all—he did see it every day—but Marinette's excitement was contagious. He followed her up the stairs, grinning as she called out attractions like some kind of tour guide for his bedroom.

Marinette was scanning his bookshelves when he got to the top. "You've got the new Heaven's Rim game? And the whole Call of War series? Oh, I've wanted to play that one forever! There's even some manga mixed in here. Kinda random."

"I have a system," he protested.

He did not have a system.

Marinette let that comment slide. "I read this series last year— _so_ good. And this one was amazing, oh my god. You've even got… oh." She pulled out a volume and made a face. "Was this a gift?"

"What? No! That's my favorite series!"

She put the book back carefully, quirking an eyebrow. "Note to self: do not get manga recommendations from Adrien."

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry, but it's true! This whole series is pure cheese."

"It's a classic and you know it."

"The _original_ was a classic. This is a spinoff of a spinoff of a time-skip."

"Note to self, never _ever_ take recommendations from Marinette."

He was mostly joking—mostly—but Marinette shrank back, looking horrified. "I—sorry, I'm sorry, that was so rude. I didn't mean to come over here and talk bad about your favorites. And it's not a _bad_ series or anything, it's… kind of fun."

Crap. She was feeling bad, and that was bad. What would Cat do? Or—what would he do if he had his mask on right then?

"I don't need your pity." He struck a dramatic pose, eyes closed and hand to his forehead. "Just leave me and my bad choices alone."

He realized suddenly, in the silence that followed, that being an idiot was a lot less embarrassing while he was also a being kickass superhero.

Then Marinette giggled, and he relaxed.

"Seriously," she said, "your room is the best. Games and books and—and—basically everything you could ever want all in one place? Can it even get any better?"

"There's this, too." He walked past the overstocked bookshelves, put a hand and a foot up onto the plastic rocks dotting the wall, and grinned over his shoulder as he hoisted himself up.

" _You have a rock climbing wall._ " Marinette was practically vibrating with excitement.

He made his way up and around the corner where two walls met ceiling, down above his skateboard ramp, and jumped, sliding down it with his socks and sticking the landing. "I do."

Marinette hopped up and followed him, coat tails flapping behind her. She scrambled across the rocks with surprising agility, retracing his path with no problems, and landed beside him a second later. Which, considering he had years of practice on those rocks and was _Cat freaking Noir_ , was pretty impressive.

And then, her eyes shining with a mischievous light, she dashed back up the staircase and did it _again_.

"Are you secretly a gymnast?" He wasn't even kidding.

"I dabble, I guess."

"Really? Like as a hobby? What do you—?"

"Hey," she interrupted, "let's play a game! Can we?"

He'd have to ask later. "Sure, I'm _game_ if you are," he replied. Then he grinned: he hadn't even done that one on purpose. _Nice._

"Was… that a pun?"

Uh oh. He didn't like that look in her eyes—it was a figuring out secret identities kind of look. "Maybe?" he hedged. "Let's play that game now. You want to pick one?"

She squinted at him. "Alright," Marinette said finally, smiling and shaking her head. "You're on."

What followed was hours and hours of gaming. Literal hours.

They kind of lost track of time.

Marinette had changed back into her own clothes when the overlong sleeves got in her way of her game controller one too many times. It was somehow a relief and a disappointment all at once—in no small part because, without the sleeve handicap, Marinette was _crushing_ him at Call of War 7.

She'd apologized the first time she beat him, but he told her in no uncertain terms she didn't have to and he'd prefer she didn't. Now she just laughed at him—but she seemed so happy about it he didn't really mind.

"And you're sure you've never played this game before?" he asked again, tossing his controller to the floor with a grimace.

"Nope, not this one. Though I have played other games from the same series. And, you know, other games. In general." She smirked. "Have you?"

"Very funny." He stood up and stretched, then glanced toward the windows. He was met with the dusky oranges, purples, and pinks of a sunset sky. "Wait, what time is it?"

Marinette followed his gaze. "Uh oh." She set her controller down and jumped up, hurrying toward her backpack. She checked the time on her phone. "Shoot. This has been amazing and I'd love to stay and keep winning your game, but I was supposed to be home _now._ "

"Just when I was going to make my big comeback," he joked. "I'll walk you home. Or I can ask for the limo to take us—"

"No, it's fine," she interrupted. "I know where my house is; I can walk. And it isn't even that far, or that dark. And I can take care of myself."

Adrien wanted to protest, but he didn't really get the chance. Before he could even open his mouth to argue, Marinette had donned her backpack, called "See you tomorrow!" and disappeared out the door.

"… see you tomorrow," he echoed.

The empty room didn't reply.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, opened the door and looked out both ways into the hall. Marinette was nowhere in sight.

He checked one last time, to be sure, then took a breath. _"Plagg?"_ he called. "Where are you, you little rat?"

"That's _cat_ , thank you very much. Cats can like cheese, too."

Adrien whirled around to see Plagg hovering behind him—in the doorway to his room. "What—were you in there the whole time?"

"You think I'd miss watching you embarrass yourself on your little date? That's cute, kid."

"It wasn't a date!" he protested, feeling his face heat up. "Now come on, we've got places to be. Plagg, Claws Out!"

. . .

He found her in an alley only a short distance from his house, fiddling with her shoulder bag for some reason, and decided to make an entrance. So he dropped down behind her from the rooftops with barely a whisper of noise and leaned against the wall, folding his arms. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, Princess! Fancy meeting _mew_ here."

Marinette spun around at the sound of his voice, slapping a hand over her purse to hold it closed. He could've sworn he heard something squeak—but that might have been Marinette herself.

"Cat!" she said, her voice an octave higher than usual. "I was just—when did you get here? Oh my god, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing?"

"Just the usual," he said. " _Paw_ -trolling the city, helping out, making people's lives better. For example: it looked like you needed some company, so here I am. And now your life is better."

Marinette snorted, relaxing. "Is it, now?"

Cat winked. "Mind if I walk with you a while?"

"If you must."

"After you." He waved or her to go with a little bow.

"It's this way, Cat."

"I knew that."

Marinette started forward without further comment, leaving Cat to hurry after her.

He jogged to catch up, then settled into a saunter beside her. "So, what brings you to this part of the city?"

"Visiting a friend," she said.

"Just a friend?" he asked.

"Well… him, actually." She smiled. "You know—the guy."

He nudged her in the side with his elbow. "The one in all those pictures on your stalker wall?"

"It's not a stalker wall!" she protested, elbowing him back with more force than necessary.

"Sure it isn't," he said.

Honestly, he still wasn't exactly sure how he felt about The Wall. Seeing all those pictures had been… a little weird. Flattering, sure, but _weird_. Not that he was judging her for it—not with all the Ladybug pictures saved on his computer. But he was definitely going to tease her about it.

"It's _not_ ," Marinette said, vehement. "But—yeah, that guy. I went over there to do design research, and I ended up staying."

"Did you have fun?" Cat asked, trying not to sound too invested in the answer.

Marinette blinked. "I was with _Adrien Agreste_. We were hanging out. And it didn't even go that badly! I still think I might've dreamed the whole thing. Of course I had fun!"

"Oh," he said, feeling decidedly warm. "That's…that's good."

"Wait. Do you think I wouldn't like hanging out with him?"

Had he thought that? He didn't even know. Maybe?

"Is this about all the stuff I said that one night?"

"It's just—I thought you got really nervous around him. That doesn't seem fun. So I figured you'd have a better time with someone who doesn't make you worry so much. I mean, there are loads of other pretty guys to pick from. There's a whole industry based on it. _Modeling_." He stopped abruptly—this was sounding a little too much like Adrien talking, and not Cat Noir. "There's a one right next to you," he fake-bragged, puffing out his chest.

Marinette laughed. "Okay. First of all, never say that again. Please. And, for real?" There was a dark undercurrent in her voice. "Don't _ever_ say I could just pick another random model. It's stupid, it's not true, and I will have your tail. Got it?"

She was deadly serious. Cat gulped. "Got it."

"And about the nervousness… it's not that simple. I get nervous about a lot of things—even stuff I want to do, stuff I enjoy. Doesn't mean I want to avoid those things forever." She paused. "Although it feels like that sometimes. Especially in, like, peak nervous mode. But you can't really trust your judgement in nervous mode, you know?"

"I… maybe?" Cat had thought _he_ worried a lot, but Marinette made it into an art form. He was way out of his depth.

"Well, do you ever worry about what Ladybug thinks of you?"

"Of course." Only _always_. Even more ever since he'd run off during their last patrol.

"But you still want to be her partner, and you still seem to like her just fine."

He nodded.

"It's like that, sort of. The contradiction. I get nervous around Adrien, and I worry about making an idiot of myself. Sometimes I do. That sucks." She took a deep breath. "But all the reasons I like him are still there. I like that he's funny, and loyal to his friends, and thinks about other people. And has awful taste in manga."

The "hey!" escaped before he could stop it. Cat disguised it as a coughing fit.

"And guess what? He likes terrible puns, too. Just like you."

Suddenly the fake-coughing turned into real spluttering. This was not a good road to go down. Marinette was a smart girl; it wouldn't take too much for her to realize that the similarities between her crush and her nighttime visitor were a bit too uncanny.

"You okay there?" she asked.

"Fine! Fine." Cat rubbed at watering eyes with a knuckle. "My puns are _paw-_ some, alright? You're just a hater."

Marinette snorted. "You're such a dork."

"Wait," he said—knowing he ought to drop it and physically unable to do so. "What about him? I'm a dork, but when _he_ makes puns it's a-okay?"

"Puns are _never_ okay," Marinette declared. "But… sometimes, when some of your favorite people make puns, and they get so stupid happy about it you just can't help but be happy, too, then… I guess that part's okay." She studied her shoelaces. "Just don't let it go to your head, alright?"

" _My_ head?" It took a moment to sink in.

She was talking about both of his identities. Adrien _and_ Cat.

She—it was just, just—

 _Wow_.

Fireworks.

He liked Marinette, Cat realized. He really, really liked her.

"So," the girl beside him went on, oblivious to his inner explosions. "Back to the topic. Do I get nervous around Adrien? Yes. Did I have a minor panic attack before school ended and need three pep-talks from Alya just to unlock the bathroom stall?"

"What?"

"Also yes," she continued. "But would I do it all over again to just spend time with him? _Yes_."

"That makes no sense," Cat mumbled.

"Feelings are like that sometimes." Marinette stepped closer and bumped her shoulder against his. "We're here, by the way. Thanks for the company."

Cat looked up—and, sure enough, there was the bakery, its windows glowing a cheerful golden yellow. Marinette's parents were probably waiting for her to get home, he thought. Maybe eat with them, too, all together around a little table, and tell them about her day. He thought of his own house: empty, windows dark. He could probably walk through the front door in full Cat Noir dress when he went back and no one would see him. Or care.

No. It was stupid to get jealous over something he was just imagining. And even if it was real—good for Marinette. It's not like he would wish his home life on anyone.

It was amazing, he thought, how quickly stupid little things could wreck his mood.

"No problem, Princess. Have a nice night," he said. He meant it. He honestly did. But Marinette clearly noticed the undercurrent of something else in his voice.

He sprang into action before she could comment on it. With a series of rather impressive leaps he perched himself on a nearby roof, already planning a route home that would push him to his limits. Tearing through the city like a cat out of hell would help.

" _Cat!_ "

He looked down and saw Marinette staring up at him, both hands cupped in a faux-megaphone around her mouth.

" _I'll see you tomorrow night, right?_ "

Huh.

He smirked. " _Purr_ -haps," he called down.

" _Never mind, y_ _ou're uninvited!_ " she called up.

"I'm coming anyway!"

" _Good! Bring snacks!_ "

He waved goodbye, and she waved back enthusiastically.

It was amazing, he thought, how quickly Marinette could take a bad mood and make it better.

. . .

He still got home in record time, because honestly—what was the point of having superpowers if you didn't use them to fly across roofs like a cat-themed bullet?

He de-transformed, stretched the soreness out of his muscles, and had just flopped down on his couch when he heard a strange thumping sound. Adrien glanced around tiredly, not really knowing what he was looking for.

But it definitely wasn't _Ladybug_ knocking at his window.

He jumped up to let her in, mind going a hundred miles a minute. Tonight wasn't a patrol night, was it? Crap, if he'd somehow missed it—no, he couldn't have. He'd never.

So what was she doing out without him?

Then he remembered, somewhat guiltily, that lately Cat Noir had been going out without her plenty. It was only fair for her to do some things without him—even if he was about to die from curiosity.

Curiosity killing the Cat. Heh. He ought to use that one some time.

"Ladybug! Hi," he said, stepping back to let her drop in through the opened window. "Can I help you?"

"A friend of Cat's flagged me down. Asked if I could pick up some things she forgot at her friend's house. I figured, since I had time…" She scuffed a foot on the windowsill.

A friend of—Marinette? It had to be. Although, now he thought about it, it was weird to imagine Ladybug and Marinette meeting each other. For some reason.

Besides, he'd just seen Marinette. When had she found time to flag down Ladybug?

He should say something already. "That's really cool of you. Helping out random citizens."

"Not really random, though," she said. "A friend of Cat's is a friend of mine, right? He is my partner."

Adrien opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Sure, but… aren't you mad at Cat right now? For, like, skipping out on heroic duties?"

"Who told you that?"

 _Crap_. He cleared his throat. "I—read it? Online. Forums. Somewhere."

"Oh. Well, you shouldn't believe everything people write about us. Why would I be mad at Cat? He hasn't done anything to deserve it." She paused to think, and the barest trace of amusement curved her lips. "I _am_ still kind of pissed about 'Bugaboo', though. Of all the ridiculous nicknames… and it had to be a pun. Of course."

Adrien stared at her for a moment, then started to smile. "That's… good to hear." He stood. "I'm going to go get that stuff you asked for." He was about to walk away, until he remembered—she hadn't told him yet. "What are you asking for?"

"Um, some fabric for her projects. Or something."

He felt like smacking himself in the head. _Of course._ That had been half the reason Marinette had even come. He'd run right past them on his way out the door and hadn't noticed. He'd walked home with her and still hadn't noticed she was clearly not carrying five rolls of fabric.

"Right," he said, turning quickly to hide his embarrassment. "I'll just go get those. Hang on."

He was back in under a minute, panting. He may or may not have been running.

He held out his load and Ladybug carefully took it off his hands. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

"Okay, now I've just got to bring it back. Somehow." She shifted the bulky load in her arms as she reached for her yoyo, struggling to keep hold of it all. "Wait—no—there we go. I can work with this. Okay."

Just as she was about to leave, Adrien remembered something. "Ladybug," he called out.

She turned away from the window. "Yes?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"Huh? Um, I—" Her blue eyes met his green ones for a moment before skittering away. "I guess—green. Green is nice," she mumbled.

His brain helpfully pointed out that Cat Noir's color was also green; he told it to stop over-analyzing things. "That's cool. I would've expected red, honestly."

"Well, expect differently," she said, shooting him a haphazard grin. "Wait—that didn't make sense, did it."

"Not really?"

"Darn it."

He stifled a laugh, and Ladybug— _Ladybug!_ —pouted in his direction. "It almost made sense," she protested, her cheeks turning pink under her mask.

He grinned. "Close enough, I'd say."

"Exactly," Ladybug said, pointing at nothing in particular. " _Exactly_. Thanks."

"No problem.

"Anyway," she said, drawing out the word. "Got to go deliver this stuff."

"Yeah, of course," he told her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you from… whatever."

"No, it was fun. We should do this again some time." And then Ladybug smiled at him, and his stomach and knees and maybe his entire self turned to jelly.

Not fireworks—not quite the same as fireworks—but no less incredible.

In that moment, as Ladybug turned and yoyo-ed into the night, Adrien realized he liked two girls very, very much.

This could be a problem.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello again! I'm back ~**

 **Quick warning: this chapter contains a small injury toward the end. It's not, like, gushing blood or anything, but it's there. If you want to skim through that bit, you'll still be able to get an idea of what's going on.**

 **Sewing machines are not toys, kids. Craft responsibly.**

 **And now, the chapter.**

* * *

" _Why did you do this to me_ ," Marinette groaned, visibly drooping from exhaustion.

Alya patted her on the back. "Sorry, Mar. Didn't really think things through. If you want, I'll tell Chloe to shove it 'cause you don't want to go to her dumb party—or I could go instead! Wear one of your old designs."

"Nah." Marinette put a hand to her face to catch a yawn. "I've put in too much work to quit now. But I still blame you."

"Understandable."

They continued walking to class in silence, as Alya tapped something into her phone's keypad and Marinette tried to walk a straight line and _not_ fall asleep mid-stride. It was a few days after Marinette had gone to Adrien's house—an event now known as The Visit, which Marinette was sure would go down in history as one of the best days of her life. She'd given Alya a run-down of every glorious second over the phone call on the night it happened. And in person over the next few days. And by text whenever she had to share her all-caps disbelief that yes, she'd hung out with Adrien Agreste at his house and nothing had even gone wrong.

But she'd already gushed about it earlier—in excruciating detail, with a giddiness that could only come from running on four hours of sleep—and conversation had turned to her project for Chloe's competition.

"Anyhow, I haven't designed any dresses for you," Marinette added. "So you couldn't go instead of me."

"Details," Alya said, waving a hand.

"Wait." Marinette stopped walking, waiting for the gears in her brain to finish turning. "You're going to this party. What are you going to wear?"

"Can't I just—"

"No, you can't just wear jeans!"

"I was joking, jeez."

Marinette just shook her head. "I'm making you a dress."

"Oh no you aren't." Alya put her hands on her hips. "Mari, the party is in a _week_. Where are you going to find the time to do all of this?"

"I'll find a way."

"To what? Magically add more hours to a day?"

"Come on," Marinette said, neatly dodging the question. "I'd be able to show off more of my work to the designers at Chloe's stupid fancy party. Get something good out of this whole mess. Aren't you always going on about the power of publicity?"

"Well—I guess, but…"

Time to go in for the kill. Marinette turned to face her friend and made the biggest, saddest puppy eyes she could muster. "Pleeeeeeeease?"

Alya broke—like she always did. "Alright, alright! Just stop making the face!"

" _Thank_ you. So I was thinking a nice dark blue for the color—"

"Wait." Alya held up a hand. "If you're making a dress for me, I can take care of your homework. Up until the day of the party."

"You're offering to _cheat_ for me?"

"It's the least I can do."

Marinette frowned. It wasn't exactly a good thing to do—but it _would_ help. And Alya could totally fake her handwriting well enough to convince the teachers. And she really would need all the time she could get…

"Just this once," she finally said. Alya punched the air; Marinette felt a little nugget of guilt settling in her stomach. But it also felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"

"Exactly," her friend said. "Don't worry, I have _plenty_ of time. There have been, like, no akuma attacks lately, and no Cat Noir or Ladybug running around to fight them, so the blog's been dead for weeks." Alya slung an arm around her shoulder. "And anyway, it's worth a little rule-bending to make sure you don't work yourself to death."

"I wouldn't _die_ , Alya."

"You'd be dead on your feet," she replied cheerfully.

They'd reached the classroom by then, and Marinette started to walk through the doorway—not realizing until Alya pulled her back that there was a door in her path.

"Oh," she said, blinking. "Was that there a second ago?"

Alya sighed and reached around her to get the door. "Scratch that. You _are_ dead on your feet, and that's with just one project."

They made their way over to their seats with Alya's arm still around Marinette's shoulders. The rest of class filtered into the room as the two girls sat and pulled out their notebooks.

Not a minute later, Nino and Adrien came in and sat down in front of them.

"Hey, ladies," Nino said, dropping his backpack and falling into his chair.

"Hey yourself," Alya replied. "Nice timing."

Meanwhile, Marinette and Adrien looked like they were having a contest to see who could seem more interested in literally anything but each other.

"Hi," Adrien said, staring intently at his desk.

"Hi," Marinette echoed, watching her pen twisting in her fingers as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

It's not like she was doing it on purpose, but—the last time she'd seen him, it had been at his house, in his room, while she destroyed him in an amazing video game. Was she supposed to bring it up? Act like it never happened? What if she actually had just imagined the whole thing, and he would have no idea what she was talking about—

Nino and Alya exchanged an all-to-familiar look. "I think forgot—" Nino began, standing.

"I should really go—" Alya started.

In unison, Marinette and Adrien each grabbed their friend by the wrist and shot them pleading looks.

"… I guess it can wait."

The two sat back down again—Nino looking sheepish, Alya amused.

"You know that just makes things awkward, right?" Marinette muttered, hoping Nino and Adrien couldn't hear her.

Alya didn't bother whispering. "Yeah, but it _works_."

"You guys would never talk otherwise," Nino chimed in.

Adrien elbowed him, but he was hiding a smile. "Our friends are the worst," he deadpanned, glancing over at Marinette.

She found herself smiling back. "Oh, definitely."

"Hey!"

And just like that, the ice was broken.

There was a brief squabble and some accusations hurled by both sides. But then Alya and Nino started talking about Chloe's party and the band that was going to play there—apparently Nino had sent Alya some music videos and now they were both die-hard fans. Alya, being Alya, had immediately looked up anything and everything even remotely related to the band, and was filling Nino in on the latest celebrity gossip.

Marinette had already heard the story. She half-listened, smiling, her chin propped up on one hand. Her eyelids started to droop.

"How's your suit going?"

Adrien's voice had her jumping to attention, mind blank—but then actually thought about her project, and found the words coming easily. "Good! Ish. Mostly. I cut out all the different parts and now I've been sewing them all together. And sometimes take them apart because my brain flips off and I sew up the wrong sides or something, 'cause I should probably be sleeping more, but I can't because I have so much to do, even though I would have less to do if I didn't make so many stupid mistakes—um." That was too much information, probably. "But now I'm going to make something for Alya to wear! So—yeah. That'll be happening. Also."

"You know… you really shouldn't stay up to work just because of Chloe's thing. It's not worth it," Adrien said. "And—are you sure starting another project is a good idea?"

He seemed… troubled. No, _concerned_. About her!

He was such a nice person, Marinette thought drowsily.

Then she noticed Adrien's face going bright red, and realized she'd said that last part out loud.

"I mean—um—nothing! No worries, don't worry about it, I'm fine!" she babbled, waving her hands in soothing gesture—but with too much frantic energy behind it to really soothe anything.

Adrien didn't seem to buy it, but then Nino was calling his name and Alya was pushing her phone in front of his nose, and he had to drop the subject.

"You guys gotta be the tiebreakers—would you cheat on your husband with this guy? I mean, sure, he's okay-looking, but when you know you'll end up spending half your fortune on divorce lawyers—"

"He has talent, Alya! It's not just about his face."

"It is if you're paying a million bucks to kiss that face."

"He's not bad," Marinette chimed in, smiling innocently at Alya—who gaped in horror, just as Marinette knew she would.

"You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I don't see it," Adrien muttered. He was looking at her strangely. And not because he was judging her for her taste in celebrities.

At least, not entirely.

It was a look that said he still had more to say about how much she'd been pushing herself. And as happy as she was to know that he was thinking of her, and he cared that she was making questionable life choices—she still wasn't going to stop and work less.

What she'd told Alya earlier hadn't been the whole story. She'd put a lot of work into her suit, and it would be a waste to give up now. But she was also starting to see how just amazing it could be when she finished it. She'd been imagining standing up to Chloe on her own turf, wearing this design she'd poured her heart and soul into like suit of armor—and she wanted it. She wanted that moment, no matter how much work it might take to get there.

And not even kind words from Adrien Agreste himself could make her give it up.

Tomorrow was the weekend: a chance to work nonstop while the sun was still up, without school getting in the way. Whatever else Adrien wanted to say to her would just have to wait until Monday.

 **. . .**

That night, Cat dropped in with homework to do while Marinette sewed—and, as promised, snacks. They'd both worked on their individual tasks for over an hour now, Cat sprawled on the chaise and Marinette hunched by her sewing machine. They weren't really talking, or interacting at all—just sitting in the same room, existing near each other. What was weird, Marinette thought, was how natural it felt. Having him around, even if they were basically ignoring each other.

But that wasn't the only weird thing going on.

She was sitting with her back toward Cat, toggling back and forth between sewing parts of her suit together and drawing paper templates for different panels of Alya's dress. She should have been entirely focused on her work. But somehow, she'd found herself… noticing Cat.

It wasn't a big deal, probably. Noticing your partner was normal. When they fought together as Ladybug and Cat Noir, they had to know where the other was to sync their attacks and help each other out of tight spots.

But it wasn't strategically important to notice the way his brow scrunched up when he was concentrating, or how he chewed on his lower lip when confronted with a particularly tricky problem, or the curve of his shoulders as he bent over his work.

And speaking of tight—had his suit always been like this? She'd criticized whatever design decisions had gone into making a leather and cat-themed suit in the past, but she'd never really noticed how it clung and stretched, especially over his back—

It didn't feel like a partner-y thing to notice.

Marinette spun around in her chair to face forward again, her face heating. Food! Food was a good distraction. And something she'd forgotten about for the past few hours. Which would explain the hollow, gnawing feeling in her belly.

She grabbed a handful of chips from the bag Cat had brought over and stuffed them in her cheeks like a chipmunk. And if she was focusing more than necessary on shoving second-rate snack food down her gullet, that was no one's business but her own.

The bag was already half-empty, and the chips were stale. She knew not everyone lived over a bakery, but she'd expected more of Cat.

As soon as her stomach quieted, Marinette pushed the bag away and reached for her project again—and froze, her greasy fingers inches away from the poor, innocent fabric. "Close one," she mumbled. "Hey, Cat?" She licked the salty grease residue off of each finger, careful to get every last crumb. "Can you take the snacks away from me? Last thing I need are a bunch grease stains on the—" She looked up and found Cat staring at her. "What?" she said.

"Nothing," he said, turning away quickly with a flush creeping in under his mask. "Just toss them over here."

"You can't walk five feet to pick up a chip bag?"

"No?" Cat gestured at the stack of papers balanced precariously on his lap. "Unless you want an avalanche."

"Alright, alright." She rolled down the top of the bag tightly—no need to spray crumbs all over the carpet—and tossed the bag.

It landed almost exactly between Cat and her chair.

"What kind of a throw was that?"

"It's not my fault, the bag was too light! It's almost there."

"Still can't stand."

"Then use your baton or something!"

Cat blinked. "You want me to use a weapon for fighting off evil _…_ to pick up chips."

"Not _pick them up_ —just, like, push the bag around until you can reach it."

"That's a terrible idea," Cat said as he pulled out his baton and proceeded to do it.

He almost succeeded, too—almost. But at the last second, when the bag was inches away from his straining fingers, he half-stood to reach it and sent a cascade of homework flying off of his lap.

He stared down at the mess in dismay, and Marinette barked a laugh. "Need any help with that, kitty?"

"No, keep doing your thing there."

"Are you sure? I could—"

"No, really, I—my name is on some of the papers," Cat explained. "My actual name."

"And you brought them to my house? Isn't that a little… dangerous?"

"I know you wouldn't look."

"Oh." There was a warm feeling spreading in her chest, and she kind of wanted to thank him—though for what, she wasn't sure. "Alright."

It seemed awkward to just turn around and ignore Cat as he bent to gather up his work, tail swishing behind him. Of course, watching him wasn't much better—especially when she found her eyes drawn to certain areas that partners _really_ shouldn't be looking at—but she chose that option anyway.

"Why do you have so much work, anyway?" she asked. "Is that all for school?"

"Most of it," he said over his shoulder. "You ought to know—you have the same work." Cat paused. "I mean similar. Similar work. Because we're, like—the same age, sort of, and your classes are probably kind of like mine, but not the exact same ones. Obviously."

He was talking too fast for Marinette's tired ears to follow; she just nodded and hoped it was the right response.

"I think the real question is, why don't _you_ have this much to do? Slacking off, Princess?"

"Yeah, Cat. That's exactly it."

"…was that serious? Or are you just _kitten_ around?"

She groaned.

"Come on, you know you love my puns."

"When did I ever say that?"

"Uh— _yesterday_."

"You can't prove that."

Cat hummed and scooped up the last of his mess, depositing the haphazard pile on the chaise cushion. "But I know it's true. And deep down in your heart, you know it too."

"Hey, here's an idea: let's talk about something else."

"Okay." A pause. "Why aren't you doing your homework?"

"Oh my god," Marinette grumbled. "Return of the teacher's pet."

Cat narrowed his eyes. "Wait, let me guess: you're waiting until Sunday night to start it."

"Very funny." She finished the template she was working on and stood up to walk it over to the growing pile—which she'd decided to put a few steps away from her workspace after the fourth time she'd mixed up the good pieces with the piles of rejected ones scattered around. She knelt to sort through the pieces, trying to figure out what still had to be done. "Alya said she'd cover it for me."

"Cover it? How?"

"Like… doing the work. And putting my name on it."

"You're _cheating?_ " Cat said, aghast.

"It's not _that_ big a deal, kitty. Quit looking at me like I murdered someone."

"But it's _cheating_!"

Marinette couldn't help but giggle at the shocked outrage in his voice.

"This isn't a laughing matter!" Cat told her, bristling—but it only made her laugh harder.

And laugh, and laugh. She couldn't seem to stop, even though Cat being a responsible student really wasn't _that_ funny.

By the time she got it under control, wiping her eyes and biting back a last snort, Cat was looking at her strangely. "Are you okay?" he said. "I mean, seriously—are you?"

She waved a hand. "It's fine. Everything's funnier when you're tired."

Cat frowned. "Have you considered, maybe, sleeping?" he asked, walking forward and carefully stepping between her and the sewing machine. "Just a cat nap?"

"Like I have time for that," she scoffed.

"You could make time for it."

"Get out of the way, Cat."

" _No_ ," he said. "You said yourself you've got to sleep, and you're just—not doing it. I'm telling you to take your own advice."

She squinted at him. "I never said that." Although she might have said something like that to Adrien, now she thought about it—though that conversation was a bit of a blur—

"Doesn't matter who said what to who! It's true, isn't it?"

Marinette looked at him evenly. "Move. Over."

Cat folded his arms. "Make me."

"Fine." She slowly began advancing toward him. Cat's eyes went wide—like he hadn't thought she'd actually take him up on it—and it made her want to laugh again. What had he expected?

But moving him out of the way was going to be harder that she'd thought. She darted left, and Cat stepped just as quickly to block her. She feinted right and went left again, but he saw through the trick and cut her off once more.

Strategy was hard, and she was tired.

Marinette threw caution to the wind then and just charged forward, single-minded as a rampaging bull. Cat caught her by the shoulders, pushed back a step by her momentum, and as she struggled to shake him off their feet tangled hopelessly. Marinette lurched forward when Cat fell back against the table—and suddenly they were close, way, _way_ too close, her body pressed against his and their faces an inch apart. And it felt like her heart was trying to bust straight through her chest.

This was a terrible idea.

She tried to stumble back as Cat put his hand down for balance in the worst possible place—just as Marinette stepped on the foot pedal on the floor, and the sewing machine roared to life.

Cat yelped. Marinette jumped back as if burned. Cat was holding his finger, watching in horror as blood welled from the very tip.

"You sewed my finger," he said. Incredulous. "I got _sewn_."

Marinette was just as shocked. "I—you—" She realized her mouth was hanging open and quickly snapped it shut. "I'll get some bandages."

She hurried to pull out the first-aid kit she kept on hand for pin-stabbings and other mishaps, mind going a million miles a minute. Would this be enough? How bad was the wound? God, was Cat going to need _stitches_?

 _He'd probably love the pun_ , she thought distantly even as another wave of panic crashed over her.

It was ridiculous. This had happened to her before—back when she first got her machine. She had the tiny scar to prove it, and the memories of crying to her parents as her finger throbbed with pain. But she didn't remember her hands shaking so much, or this sick, twisting fear in her stomach.

And this was _Cat._ Cat, who had taken far worse hits in their fight against Hawkmoth. Who regularly threw himself in front of magical supervillains to take shots meant for Ladybug.

God, she hated it when he did that.

But he did, and she knew it, and there was no reason to be freaking out something so _small_ in comparison. And yet—she was.

But someone had to be the level-headed one and take care of things, and it ought to be the person who wasn't currently bleeding.

"How are you doing?" she called. "Does it hurt? Wait, sorry, stupid question. How bad is it?"

Cat was sitting in the middle of the floor, like he's started walking and his legs just stopped working. "Relax, Princess. I'm not dying." He gave her a strained smile and opened his mouth to say something else—then looked at his finger again and blanched. "Ah."

"What? What is it?"

Cat silently pulled a thin strand of thread out of the wound. He stared at it, looking perplexed. "That… shouldn't be there."

Marinette winced in sympathy. She rummaged through the case until she found a roll of gauze, which she thrust toward Cat. "Make sure there's nothing else in there, then put pressure on it with this to stop the bleeding. And here's a band-aid for when it's not so bad, and there's some antiseptic stuff in this tube here, and—yeah."

Cat followed her garbled instructions, still looking pale and even as he tried to put on a brave face. She wanted to fix it. She wanted _do_ something—but there wasn't really anything else to do.

Marinette started pacing beside Cat, crackling with nervous energy. Her fingers tap-tap-tapped against her leg as if she were playing a piano. Then, struck by an idea, she dashed up the stairs to her bed. She pulled off a blanket—after easing a sleeping Tikki off of it, careful not to wake her—and snatched up a pillow before running back down.

"What are you—"

"Hold this."

"What?"

She sat next to him, handed him a fuzzy pillow, and draped the comforter over his shoulders. "This'll help."

Cat stared at her, momentarily distracted from his finger by his confusion. "…is your solution to everything 'put a blanket on it'?"

"Sometimes," she said. It supposed to be joke, sort of, but her voice came out dead serious.

Cat snorted. "I'm not even surprised."

She had an indignant reply ready, but it died on her tongue when she realized how close they were sitting. Cat's eyes were sparkling with amusement as he spoke, but for some reason she found her eyes drawn to his lips—

And there she went _noticing_ things again. It was getting weird.

Or maybe not? She could admit, from a purely objective standpoint, that Cat was—kind of attractive. That wasn't weird, was it?

The sound of her name snapped her out of her reverie. "Marinette! Are you listening?"

"I was," she lied, knowing full well Cat saw right through her. "Can you just… tell me again?"

"I saidyou owe me now, so you've got to sleep. You don't want my sacrifice to be in vain." He waved his gauze-covered wound in front of her face, and she pushed his had away—more gently than she might have before.

"Your poor little _paw_ will be fine. See?" She stuck out her hand, showing him the thin, pale line on her finger. "I did the same thing a few years back, and you can barely see it."

"So what you're saying is, you have a history of reckless finger-sewing." Cat took her hand in his uninjured one, examining it, and she felt a shiver run up her spine.

"Once is not a _history_ ," she protested weakly.

"What about twice?"

"Coincidence."

"Right." He dropped her hand, and she found herself not wanting to pull away—though she still did. "So… sleep?"

She scowled, but couldn't quite bring herself to say no when he was making that face. "Twenty minutes. And you have to promise to wake me up after."

"Deal." Then Cat smiled at her—and a swarm of butterflies erupted in her stomach.

What was going on with her? First there was the noticing, and now _this_. She was feeling nervous and antsy around Cat, but—in a good way. Like… excitement, but with an extra edge to it. Almost like—

Wait.

Marinette knew what this was. She's had this feeling before: for years, actually, every single time she looked at Adrien Agreste.

It was _impossible_.

It was unmistakable.

She had a crush on Cat Noir.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Happy New Year, friends! I SURVIVED FINALS.**

 **And remember that party this fic has been foreshadowing forever?** **IT'S TIME!** **I did my best to do justice to everyone's outfits for this party... I think I wrote more description in this chapter than in, like, the whole rest of the story 0-0**

 **Also: I made a small edit in the beginning of the previous chapter, where the conversation makes it sound like Marinette's known Alya for longer than she actually has in canon. It doesn't really change what happens in that convo or any big stuff, but it makes me feel better.**

 **And now, the chapter!**

* * *

After so many night-time visits from the rooftops as Cat Noir, it felt weird for Adrien to be standing in front the Dupain-Chengs' bakery, out of costume, with Nino chatting excitedly at his side. The sun just starting to set in the sky, so at least the timing was familiar.

He could hardly believe it was already the night of Chloe's party; the time had passed in a blur, days and nights of trying to coax Marinette into maybe not working herself to death. Thankfully, he'd succeeded. Probably.

It _was_ taking an awfully long time for her and Alya to come out.

Honestly, though, it was more likely Marinette had dozed off while getting ready, and Alya was still debating whether or not to wake her yet. He'd seen Marinette fall asleep standing up yesterday. At this point, nothing would surprise him.

A moment later, he jumped out of his skin when the door to the bakery burst open. Marinette dashed out, Alya following close behind, and Adrien finally got to see the end results of all Marinette's hard work.

Marinette's suit fit perfectly. The suit's pants, vest, and jacket were a soft, dark gray, made from the material he'd given her a week or so before. Under the vest, Marinette wore a white blouse with flowing sleeves gathered at the wrists and small, neat ruffles at the neck. She had the jacket slung over one shoulder in her haste to leave, but as Adrien watched she paused to slide her arms into it and fumble with the buttons at the front.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Need some help?" he asked, stepping forward.

Marinette looked up and stopped, mouth falling open. "You look really good!" she blurted. A half-second of regret crossed her face, like she hadn't meant to say it, but then her expression smoothed out—like it didn't matter, because she stood by that comment.

Adrien felt his face heat and wondered when he'd gotten so good at reading Marinette.

He ducked his head, glancing down at his outfit—black pants and shirt, with an olive green jacket that had a floral pattern and a faint shine to the fabric. He'd agonized the night before about whether it would be weird to show up in clothes that kind of _coincidentally_ matched the project he'd seen Marinette working on, but eventually decided it probably was. So he'd made himself go in a different direction.

Adrien pulled his hands from his jacket pockets—he swore he heard a hiss from Plagg, curled up in one and using his fingers as pillows—and stepped forward to help do up her buttons.

"Thanks," she said, smiling.

She'd gotten a lot more comfortable with Adrien in the weeks leading up to the competition—probably because he'd been constantly nagging her about taking better care of herself, to the point where he'd started to annoy himself. It was hard to keep being intimidated by someone who loaded your backpack with bottled water and packaged snacks because you didn't seem to be eating enough. Or lectured on and on about the importance of sleep.

Marinette had taken to rolling her eyes at him, waving a hand with a blithe, "Yeah, yeah, I got it," whenever he started nagging—or a "Whatever you say, _mom,_ " with a little grin and her head cocked just enough to make her bangs flop into her eyes.

Today her hair was tied off to one side in a low, sleek ponytail, with some sort of sparkly hairclip perched above the other ear. He'd never seen it that way before.

Adrien stepped away quickly as soon as he'd finished with the buttons.

Marinette tugged and smoothed her clothes into place with a perfectionist's eye. The now-buttoned jacket that hugged her waist and flared slightly at the bottom had to be adjusted; a loose strand of hair was tucked behind her ear, under the clip. She pulled the handkerchief from her breast pocket—a light sky blue square, the same color as her eyes—and folded it carefully before slipping it back in.

When she was finally satisfied, she met Adrien's eyes and bit her lip. "So… how do I look?"

Like royalty. Like something ripped straight out of a fairy tale. Like—

"Really good," he said, smiling. She beamed back.

"You look awesome, Mari!" Nino said, breaking the spell. "You're totally going to win the gold here."

"Unlike some of us," Adrien quipped. "Who insisted on _jeans_ and a _band_ _shirt_ instead of just borrowing something from me."

"Well, we can't all be models. Or design geniuses." Nino tugged at the sides of his suit jacket—the one concession he'd made to the fanciness of the occasion. Even his headphones were still in their usual place around his neck.

"You don't need to be a genius to listen to your model friend's advice."

"Let it go, dude."

Marinette watched the exchange, her smile fading slightly. "Thanks, Nino. But I'm not going to win."

"What do you mean?"

Alya breezed past in her party outfit—warm navy blue dress with lacy details and a full skirt—and tugged the matching caplet more securely around her shoulders. "Chloe's competition, at Chloe's party, with whatever judges Chloe specially picked? Gee, I wonder who they'll vote for."

"Right." Nino winced. "Bummer."

Marinette shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I just want to show everyone my best work."

"And make Chloe think twice before she starts talking crap about your designs," Alya added.

Marinette snorted. "Here's hoping."

They were all quiet for a minute. Adrien wondered if his friends were also silently praying Marinette's wish would come true. And that Chloe wouldn't be too much of a jerk tonight. Competition seemed to bring out the worst in her, and he wouldn't put it past her to try some kind of sabotage. He'd have to stick close by Marinette at the party to make sure nothing funny happened.

For the sake of the suit, he told himself. Because actual blood, sweat, and tears had gone into this project—Cat's blood, to be exact—and it would be a shame if her work got ruined after all that.

… and because hanging out with Marinette sounded like the best possible way to spend this night.

"So," Alya said, breaking the silence. "Are we walking to this thing, or…?"

Oh. Right. "Not exactly," Adrien mumbled.

Nino grinned. "Dude, forget walking. We've got a freaking _limo_."

. . .

Walking into the party felt like stepping into another world.

The overhead lights were low, but strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling and curled around the silvery potted trees scattered around the room. Faint shadows of their branches wove over every surface.

The hall had long tables full of food on one end, with a wide stage flanked by velvet curtains at the other. The middle area was set aside for mingling, and probably dancing once the band setting up onstage began to play. Clusters of people holding plates and glasses chatted as they ate, and scattered laughter rang out over the buzz of talk.

"Dang. Probably should've worn the nice pants," Nino muttered. Alya snorted.

The light danced and winked off Marinette's hairpin as she turned to take in the scene, eyes wide, and Adrien found he would much rather look at her than the decorations. He'd worried that she would be uncomfortable in the pretentious sort of party Chloe liked to throw—the kind meant more for impressing than enjoying. But Marinette stood tall in her suit of armor, a little grin pulling at her lips as she glanced around the room.

In that moment, everything felt perfect— _purr-_ fect, even.

Then Chloe seemed to appear out of nowhere and seized his arm. "You're here!" she squealed. "Finally!"

Adrien jumped; she just smiled and tightened her hold.

"Hi, Chloe," Marinette said quietly. She wasn't smiling any more, but there was a new spark in her gaze. Her chin was raised and her arms hung loose by her sides, like she was fully ready to fight somebody—if it came down to that. It was an oddly familiar look, though Adrien wasn't sure why.

"Oh," Chloe said. "You came."

"Did you want me to back out?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Chloe narrowed her eyes—and then did a double-take, for the first time taking in what Marinette had decided to wear to her contest. Her jaw dropped.

Adrien ducked his head to hide a smile. He hadn't seen Chloe turn that red since the last time Ladybug saved her.

Chloe spluttered, her expression absolutely furious. "That's— _you_ —that's not—"

Marinette looked at her evenly—then smirked. "I don't remember any rules against pants," she commented.

"They were _implied_ ," Chloe snapped, "and this"—she gestured at Marinette—"disqualifies you. So I win by default!"

"Your favorite way to win," Alya muttered. Nino choked on laugh, and Chloe glared at them both.

Marinette only shrugged. "Okay."

" _Okay?"_ Chloe's eyes snapped back to her. "What do you mean, _okay_?"

"I mean, okay," Marinette said. "Congratulations. Enjoy your party." She turned casually to her friends. "Want to go look at the food?"

Alya looked proud enough to cry. "Hell yes. Come on, Mari."

They started to walk off, Nino trotting after Alya, when they all seemed to realize he hadn't moved—Chloe's arm still wrapped around his.

"Adrien?" Marinette asked.

Chloe leaned in and answered for him. "I have a few things I'd like to discuss with _Adrien_ first. Do you mind?"

He wished she would stop using that tone whenever she said his name.

Marinette hesitated a moment—waiting for him to say something—then started walking once more. He half-considered calling out to her, pleading for her not to leave him alone with Chloe—but that would be rude, and he didn't want to hurt Chloe's feelings. Even if she wasn't being particularly nice herself.

Besides, Marinette and he others had already completed their escape to the snack table. And even if he hadn't really planned to get stuck with Chloe for the whole evening—in his experience, when she latched on like this at fancy parties there was really no shaking her—it would give him a chance to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't try to sabotage Marinette's clothes out of spite.

It wasn't the way he'd wanted to accomplish that, but it would work.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Hm? Nothing in particular," Chloe said. But there was a hardness in her eyes that gave her away: she was upset her competition hadn't worked out the way she'd planned, and she wanted someone paying attention to her to make up for it. "I know—Adrien, let's mingle!"

She wanted _as many people as possible_ paying attention to her, he mentally corrected—even if those people only cared because of who their fathers were. "Alright," he said, trying to sound upbeat.

What followed were the most boring few hours of flattery and fashion politics he'd ever experienced—second only to last year's summer garden party. Every designer smiled and complimented Chloe on her outfit, and him on his, then dropped strategic questions to see if Adrien knew what sorts of designs his father was planning for his next show.

They tried to be subtle about it. They were not.

He was exhausted by the time he and Chloe excused themselves to get sparkling cider from the food table.

" _Ugh_ ," Chloe said. "Look."

"What?" Adrien asked, too tired to feign real interest.

Chloe pointed, her nail polish glittering as she lifted an accusing finger. "She's supposed to be this big designer, and she shows up in _that_?"

He scanned the room and found himself looking at Marinette—chatting with the famous young designer who'd made Chloe's dress. Zahra, if he was remembering correctly. She had on a long, pale pink dress and light leggings under it, with a white sweater and a darker pink _hijab_.

"What's wrong with her clothes?" he asked, feeling defensive on her behalf. She was smiling encouragingly at something Marinette was saying, nodding every so often; after seeing how all the designers he'd met tonight acted, it was hard not to like one who actually seemed nice.

Chloe looked at him like she couldn't believe her ears. "They're so drab! I specifically told her to wear silver to match the decorations. Like all the _other_ employees?"

He spotted a few people in shimmery silver blazers and masquerade masks around the corners of the room, sweeping up trash and taking people's empty glasses. "Oh. Right."

Chloe sniffed. "And she had the _gall_ to tell me she didn't think my accessories _go well_ with her design. What does that even mean?"

Adrien finally took a moment to glance at her outfit: a fitted yellow dress, covered in a sheer fabric with gossamer threads of gold growing up its length like ivy—paired with an enormous fur jacket and heavy gold jewelry, studded with what he'd bet are real diamonds. "I… don't know?"

"Clearly she has no idea how much this coat cost," Chloe mumbled. Adrien opted for tactful silence.

It took another hour, but Chloe finally decided she had somewhere else to be—employees to yell at, from what she said before she went—and Adrien was left on his own.

The first thing he did was snag some cheese from the appetizers and smuggle it into the bathroom, where Plagg could come out and stretch his legs for a minute. Hiding in a pocket wasn't exactly comfortable, and he felt bad for the kwami. He also knew he'd get an earful back home if he didn't find a way for Plagg to sample the fancy party cheese.

The next thing he did was look for Marinette.

He found her chatting with a taller guy near the stage, seeming perfectly at ease even as the guy leaned forward slightly, into her space, and gave her a teasing grin. His face looked familiar, somehow—

Because he was the lead singer of Nino and Alya's favorite band, Adrien realized with a start. The heartbreaker with the million-dollar face.

His feet were moving before he finished the thought.

"Hey, Marinette," he said, almost skidding to a stop right beside her. She jumped at his sudden appearance, arms flailing, almost smacking him in her surprise. "Sorry," he said, though he didn't step away. "And hi. I don't think we've been introduced?" He stuck out a hand, smiling and trying not to look winded from practically sprinting across the room.

The musician gave Adrien a once-over. "Is this your date, love?" He looked back at Marinette.

Adrien tried not to bristle; Marinette just shook her head, grinning. She pointed across the room to the snack table, where Alya was rolling her eyes and laughing as Nino made exaggerated, indignant gestures at a tiny appetizer. "My plus one's over there. Alya, remember?"

"Ah." The man nodded, watching as Alya gave Nino a playful shove. "Don't look now, but I think someone's stealing your date."

"Maybe!" Marinette said, throwing up her hands. "Who knows, really? I can't tell if they're actually interested in each other or friends who just flirt a lot."

"And you're okay with that?" the guy asked, concern softening his gaze.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. We came as friends," Marinette said. "I'd set them up myself if I knew for sure they actually liked each other."

"We could give it a shot," Adrien chimed in, gears in his brain beginning to turn. "I think Nino does like her like that—and besides, they've been doing the same to us for forever. Turnabout's fair play."

"Sounds fun," the singer announced, grinning. "What can I do to help?"

"Well, they're both fans of your music."

"Are they now?" The singer straightened, tugging on the long sleeves of his shirt. "How's this: I'll go over and have a chat, maybe ask about their favorite song, and see if I can't work it into our set later. Sets the mood, if they want to do something, and if not they'll probably like it anyhow."

"Alya would _love_ that," Marinette said. "I'd never hear the end of it—but, wait, is that okay?" She frowned. "Don't you already have the songs you're playing decided?"

"I'm sure we could make a few tweaks," he said, waving a hand. "I'd just have to talk to the other guys, maybe run it by the people hosting the party." His expression went tight. "They might be… harder to convince."

Adrien knew that face. "You've met Chloe?"

"You mean the little blonde girl? She hollered at us while we were unloading the van. Said if we messed up her party with any 'weird shouting music' she'd make sure we never got another gig." He exhaled through his nose. "She hired a punk band, mate. I dunno what she expected."

Adrien winced. "Sorry. She's… under a lot of stress."

He only shrugged. "Point is, we already made a few tweaks to the program. Might as well add another for the sake of young love." He winked and rolled his shoulders a few times. "Well, I better go get some intel. Wish me luck, kids!" He strode across the room and, a minute later, he was greeting Nino and Alya with a bright grin. Even from this distance, they could see the way Alya's jaw dropped.

Nino jumped so high he nearly spilled his drink—and judging by his face, he wouldn't have cared if he did. It looked like all his dreams were coming true in a dimly lit ballroom beside a platter of cheese-covered crackers.

"I think he's stealing your date now," Marinette said, a hand by her mouth to hide her giggles. "You worried?"

Adrien smiled and shook his head, but he couldn't quite shake the nagging question in his brain. "Should Alya worry? About him stealing her date, I mean?"

Marinette turned to him, brows furrowed. "What, mean me and—? No. Of course not," she said. "He's like, twenty."

"Right." Adrien rubbed the back of his neck with on hand, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and relief. "Sorry. It just looked like—earlier—"

"I just wanted to ask about an autograph for Alya, and he said he liked my suit, and we talked for a while. He said I reminded him of his little sister."

He could practically hear Plagg laughing at him: _told you, boy. You're the jealous type._

He really ought to work on that.

Beside him, Marinette was frowning. "You know, he seemed pretty upset about his breakup. The one Nino and Alya were talking about, with the married guy? Maybe not _akuma_ upset, but…" She looked over at the table again, where the musician was signing napkins while Alya and Nino looked ready to faint. "I hope Chloe doesn't give him a hard time."

Adrien wondered if he ought to go back to keeping an eye on Chloe—but now that he was back with Marinette, he didn't really want to go anywhere. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"I hope so." She sighed. "I guess Cat and Ladybug can take care of it, if anything goes wrong."

"Of course," he said. "Ladybug can handle anything."

"With Cat, she can," Marinette corrected. "They're partners."

He had to smile at that. "They do make a good team."

They were both quiet for a moment, still standing closer to each other than was really necessary. It was comfortable: Adrien had spent too much time sitting next to Marinette while she sewed, completely ignoring him, to feel any need to fill the silence.

But he'd barely had a chance to talk to Marinette all night—so he broke it anyway. "Enjoying the party?"

" _So_ much," she told him. "A lot of people have been coming up to me to ask about the suit—actual designers! And they say they like it, and it looks well-made and _nice_ and the colors work well and I just—ahhhh!" She put her hands up over her face, beaming. "It's amazing. And there are so many amazing designs everywhere? I wish I had my sketchbook." She sighed happily. "What about you?"

"It's been alright," he said.

"Just alright?"

He shrugged. "I guess I've been to a lot of these types of things," he found himself saying. "They feel more like work than parties. Networking, and everyone asking about my father." He stopped himself there, not wanting to dwell on things. "This is nice, though. Just…" He gestured vaguely between them. "This."

Marinette smiled.

They moved away from the stage area to get out of the way of the people setting it up for the band, instead finding space on the edge of the room: hidden behind by one of the larger trees, like a bubble of privacy in the crowded room. Then they just talked.

Marinette pointed out interesting dresses and color combinations, with Adrien chiming in with whatever he knew about the person wearing them. They compared notes about the food, debating whether the odd grayish dip by the crackers was rotten or actually supposed to smell like that. Complaining about the lack of seating that had left them leaning against a wall instead.

The band was almost finished setting up; in the meantime, a recording of something soft and classical played from the room's sound system. A few guests on one side of the room had broken away from the crowd—mostly couples—to sway in time to the chords.

"Do you want to dance?" Adrien said suddenly.

Marinette blinked at him. "Like—" she gestured at the other people, moving in some twirling, tricky series of steps. "I don't really know how to do that."

"I could show you. It looks harder than it is."

"Um…"

"It's okay if you don't want to," he said quickly.

"No!" she said, even quicker. "No, I want to dance with you. Just—I'm kind of, um, clumsy, and learning in front of all these people, _these_ people, just—" She groaned, frustrated. "Sorry, I'm not saying this right."

"No, I get it," he assured her. He didn't think she was really as clumsy as she thought, but he could understand not wanting to take a chance in front of so many designers she admired. "Maybe I could show you some other time? When there aren't as many people."

"Really?" Marinette's eyes lit up. "Yes! I mean, yeah. I'd like that."

"Me, too." Adrien grinned, wondering if he had the nerve to say, _It's a date._

And then they heard the screaming.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: We're getting close to the finish line, folks! Two more chapters after this :0**

 **Heads up: this is an Action Chapter, and there are mentions of blood and injuries in the battle. It gets a little dark in some places.**

 **(And one OC ended up being waaay better at evil than I expected. I'm proud of her but she scares me a little.)**

 **Thanks for sticking with me, guys. Now, here's the chapter!**

* * *

The hall was full of screaming, and Marinette was annoyed.

One night, on patrol, Cat joked he'd saved _so_ many people from akumas, he could recognize his classmates by shriek. She'd shook her head and laughed him off—but honestly, Cat was right.

She knew the first shriek had been Chloe's, interrupting the first real conversation she'd had with Adrien all night. And she wanted to pretend she hadn't heard a thing.

But she couldn't. So she scowled and assessed the situation.

Two akumatized villains stood in a panicking crowd, laughing as people fought to escape. One had long hair, torn clothes, and a full face of white stage makeup; he held a guitar in his hands. Under the costume, Marinette recognized the singer she and Adrien had just talked to. The one who'd complained about Chloe.

The other villain was decked from headscarf to toe in shiny silver, with a cape to match. She was hovering, balanced on a giant silver platter like she was surfing the air, with a smaller silver plate in either hand.

It was Zahra, Marinette realized—the designer who'd been so friendly earlier in the night. She hadn't been happy with Chloe, either.

"First the girl mistakes me for a waitress," she'd sighed, "then— _after_ I correct her—she yells for me to grab a tray. I'm sorry she's short-staffed, but I'm not her employee. She asked for a dress, and she got a dress. I am _not_ here to serve her."

As Marinette watched, Zahra hurled the smaller plates in her hands like Frisbees and sliced a chunk out of a decorative tree; the trunk bent dangerously, and seconds later the tree toppled in a crash of branches and dirt.

Zahra laughed. She made a grand, sweeping gesture with one arm, conjuring an armada of flying forks that embedded themselves in the trunk.

Marinette turned to their other opponent.

The punk rocker was standing on a table top, strumming. He hit a chord and pointed his guitar at a party guest; glowing sound waves flowed over them, turning their fancy suit ragged and ripped. Dark makeup appeared on their cheeks in slashes, and their hair stood on end. They scowled at the delicate glass in their hand and hurled it to the ground.

As she watched, five more guests were transformed by the sound waves. As one, they howled like a jilted crowd.

And there, in the middle of it all, stood Chloe.

Marinette slapped a palm to her forehead.

 _Okay,_ she told herself. _It won't be that bad._ Tikki was curled in her jacket pocket; she just had to find a quiet place to transform and get this battle over with. Ten minutes, tops. Then back to chatting with—

She heard a quiet curse beside her and remembered who was standing there.

Adrien was scanning the room with a furrowed brow. He was calmer than she would've expected—calmer than the other civilians in the room. She should _not_ be impressed by that.

She had to get away from him, darn it. She had to transform!

"Adrien—"she said.

His hand found hers and squeezed. Her stomach flipped.

"They're blocking the doors," Adrien said, nodding at the chaos in front of them. "We have to find somewhere hide."

Just like that, she knew what to do.

Marinette tugged once on their intertwined hands to get Adrien's attention. When he met her eyes, curious, she nodded toward the stage at the back of the room. It was the farthest they could get from the exits, but also farthest from the fight, with curtains on either side that could easily hide them both.

Adrien followed her gaze and nodded. "Good plan."

They moved half hunched over, darting from tree to tree for cover. The villains seemed too busy wreaking havoc to notice them.

The long, heavy curtains hung on the walls on either side of the temporary stage, framing a drum set and a lonely microphone; the band hadn't finished setting up before things went south.

Marinette pushed one curtain aside, checking over her shoulder before peering behind it. "Alright. You take this one." She stepped back. "I'll take the other one."

Adrien frowned. "We could both fit—" he began, but Marinette was already moving.

She slipped out of sight and nudged her pocket; Tikki burst out in a flash of red.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

Marinette sighed. "Ready for this to be _over_."

. . .

The floor was slippery with spilled drinks and littered with food and broken glass. Ladybug crouched among the debris, tucked behind an overturned table.

She mentally reviewed the situation: two enemies to watch out for, brainwashed guests, and a room full of panicked civilians left to protect—and no good places to hook her yoyo. She'd fight on foot while Zahra flew.

This wasn't going to be easy.

"Looks like double trouble, my lady." Cat landed in a crouch beside her, eyes shining with mischief.

Despite it all, she felt herself smile.

 _You_ like _him,_ a voice in her brain sing-songed.

 _I know,_ she told it _. Shut up._

"We should save Lucky Charm and Cataclysm until the end today," she said—straight to business. "Or until we've got one akuma down. It's two on one if someone detransforms."

Cat nodded and rolled his shoulders. "What are we busting up? Her hover-tray thing?"

"And his guitar, I think."

"I call the guitar!" Cat mimed slamming it against the ground. "Always wanted to try that."

She shook her head, fighting a laugh. "We'll see about—"

"My _dress!"_

They both spun in time to see Chloe stalk up to not one, but _two_ supervillains, hands balled into fists at her side and cider dripping down her front.

Zahra exchanged a glance with Guitar Guy, then turned back to Chloe. "That'll come out with a good wash," she told her, lifting a hand just as one of her plates boomeranged back. She caught it neatly, lips curling at the edges. "I'd worry more about bloodstains."

The plate flashed silver as it sliced through the air.

Ladybug leapt to her feet and broke into a run, Cat hot on her heels. They wouldn't make it in time, she realized; Ladybug fumbled for her yoyo and _hurled_ , still sprinting. It smacked the plate with a metallic _clang_ , knocking it off course just enough to miss Chloe by inches.

The villains turned as one.

"Ladybug! Cat Noir!" Zahra clapped her hands together. "So nice of you to join us."

"Welcome to the party!" The rocker strummed a chord. His glowing soundwaves hit another guest; her red gown morphed into something dark and tattered.

Cat eyed it with distaste. "Look, your music is fine, but those clothes are _claw_ -ful. Are you Goth or punk or just a train wreck?" He shook his head.

In response, the man's fingers flew; the newly-turned woman and a crowd of tattered party guests lurched toward Cat like zombies.

"Fashion victims," Cat muttered. He locked eyes with Ladybug, then snapped out his baton and vaulted over the mob—and away from her and Chloe. "Too slow!" he quipped, tail flicking behind him.

The rocker growled, focusing his attention on Cat—just as Cat wanted him to. With one enemy distracted, Ladybug could focus on protecting Chloe.

As if on cue, she hiked up her skirts and darted behind Ladybug. "Thank god you're here!" she gasped. "My hired help is trying to kill me!"

"Not kill—just teaching you a lesson," the _hired help_ said. Her once-reassuring voice was sharp and cold. "I'll need your Miraculous later, Ladybug. But now, be a dear and _move_."

Ladybug met her eyes behind her silver mask and exhaled slowly. Evillustrator had still been himself, kind of. Maybe she could reason with Zahra.

"Let's talk," Ladybug said, holding up her hands in a soothing gesture. "You're a good person, Zahra. You don't have to do this."

"I'm Silver Server." The girl laughed. "And I want to!"

"Are you sure, though? Really sure?"

"That menace made five waiters cry. I want to see her bleed."

Ladybug nodded slowly. Then she hauled Chloe up by the arm. " _Run_."

They ran—sort of. It was slow and stumbling, her half-dragging Chloe every step.

"Can't you go any faster?" she said.

Chloe spluttered. "In these shoes?"

Her gaze darted to Chloe's high heels, then back up—just in time to see a silver plate flying. It was an arm's length away when she chucked her yoyo, hitting her target with another loud _clang_.

The plate missed, barely. The yoyo bounced back with the force of a meteor and smacked Ladybug in the face.

"Take the shoes off, Chloe!" she snapped, muffled as she clutched her throbbing nose. Something warm and wet trickled down her chin, and tears blurred her vision. "I swear I'm going to save you even if you don't deserve it, but you need to help me out here or we're dead!"

Chloe blinked, her face pale—then kicked the heels off one after another. She mumbled a word Ladybug never, ever thought she'd hear from Chloe Bourgeois: "Sorry."

"Good." Ladybug grabbed Chloe by the wrist and pulled her into a sprint. She'd have to process this later.

She kept an eye on the sky as they went, yoyo in hand to deflect the plates of death. She thought about spinning it above their heads for a larger plate shield—but what if they cut through the string? The yoyo hadn't failed her before, but she didn't want to risk it. And it took time for the plates to return to Zahra, so there was only ever one spinning toward them at a time. She could handle that.

Suddenly Chloe stumbled, inhaling sharply.

"What _now_?" They couldn't keep stopping like this.

"Glass," Chloe gasped, "I—I stepped on—"

There was red on the floor.

Her mind raced. She couldn't defend them with her yoyo if she was carrying Chloe—but she couldn't expect her to walk like this.

But they were so close to the door.

"Can you make it?" Ladybug asked.

The unspoken truth hung heavily between them: everything would be fixed after Miraculous Ladybug—but until then, it would hurt like a bitch.

Chloe set her jaw. "Can't be worse than the heels."

In the end, Ladybug had to carry her last few yards—but they almost made it out.

Then Zahra let out a yell and loosed a rain of silver dishes, plates and forks and knives whistling through the air like missiles.

They dove for safety. A fork nicked Chloe's flailing hand; a knife kissed Ladybug's shoulder. She practically hurled Chloe out the door, gritting her teeth as her new scratch stung. But as the last few dishes clattered to the floor, Chloe was out.

 _And_ her nose had stopped bleeding. Point, Ladybug.

She looked over her shoulder and took in the scene: the only people left inside were akumatized, hypnotized, or cracking puns as they vaulted out of danger. She snatched up two discarded coats and some dishes and jammed the doors, using the coats to protect her hands from the razor edges. If the villains chased after Chloe and disappeared into the city, it would take forever to hunt them down—time she refused to waste tonight.

No one was leaving this room until they were through.

Ladybug heard a yelp behind her and spun. "Cat? You alright?"

Cat was playing tug-of-war with hypnotized guest who had a death grip on his tail. " _Purr-_ fect, my lady!" he hollered back. Yanking his tail free, Cat vaulted out of the mob's reach, landing effortlessly on his feet. He waggled a finger at them. "No touching the tail."

Yeah, Cat was fine.

But she'd been distracted too long.

She saw a blur of silver from the corner of her eye and jumped; a silver plate sliced the air beside her. It wheeled around and headed for the girl hovering just over her head.

"Why did you help Chloe leave?" Zahra sighed. "I'll find her later. Now I have to deal with you _first_." The plate slid into her waiting hand.

Ladybug scrambled back, putting distance between them—then her foot found a satin tablecloth. She slipped, arms pinwheeling.

There was no time to think. She launched into an awkward backward somersault and came up in a crouch, arms thrown up to shield her face.

And the plate she'd _known_ was coming bit deep into her forearm.

She swore, voice cracking halfway through.

"Ladybug!" Cat shouted. "You okay?"

" _Purr-fect_!" she gritted.

"So that's a 'no'?"

A shadow fell over her head before she could reply. Ladybug squinted up and saw silver. She was so _sick_ of that color.

"I held back. You're welcome."

"Gee, thanks _._ "

Zahra dropped to a crouch on her hovering tray, arms dangling loosely over her knees. "This isn't personal, you know," she said. "I want Bourgeois. So be a dear and give me your Miraculous before I _make_ it personal."

"No."

"Aw, pretty please?"

Ladybug glared.

"Rats." She straightened up. "But I gave you a chance. Remember that." Both plates fell into her waiting hands, and she drew back to throw.

Time seemed to slow for Ladybug. She heard Tikki calling her name.

Then an electric guitar came spinning through the air, colliding with Zahra and knocking her to the ground. The tray remained airborne, bobbing like a balloon, but the broken instrument crashed at Ladybug's feet. From the massive crack down its middle, a shadowy butterfly emerged.

She trapped it in her yoyo before she even got up, purifying the akuma with a sigh of relief. Cat always had her back.

Experimentally, Ladybug threw her yoyo at the floating tray; it bounced off harmlessly. She filed the information away for later. They'd need Cataclysm to break it—and a way to pull it closer.

She hurried over to Cat's side of the room; he was directing confused guests and an equally confused singer in building a table barricade, which he ushered them into with a firm gesture.

"Nice work, Cat! Got him all by yourself."

Cat spun around. His hair was a mess; three thin scratches ran down his cheek.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. He looked worriedly at the drying blood on her face and the still-dripping wounds on her arm.

"'M fine." Ladybug frowned. Blood red clashed annoyingly with the red of her suit.

"Don't 'fine' me." Cat glared. "You look terrible!"

"Blame Chloe," she said. Cat wasn't amused. "Look, are you asking if it hurts? It does." Her face throbbed, and pain struck like lightning whenever she moved her arm. "But we've got one more akuma to go, and I can still fight. And it'll all be fixed in the end, right?"

Cat narrowed his eyes. They both knew as long as she used Miraculous Ladybug, everything would go back to normal. Good as new.

They both knew that didn't make it hurt less now. Or erase the memories. She'd had enough day-after nightmares to know: trapped in a giant bubble, running out of air; sawn in half by a crazed magician; buried alive on Halloween night. They didn't talk about it much, but she knew Cat was the same.

But he knew what they had to do.

"Yeah. Just—yell if you run into trouble." He fixed her with a stern look.

"Will do." Unless it was trouble Cat could throw himself in front of. "Now, let's wrap this up." She moved back a half-step. "Lucky Charm!"

A U-shaped magnet the size of a dinner plate dropped into her hands. It was surprisingly heavy.

"Pretty obvious what that's for," Cat said.

"But how strong is it?" Ladybug held it high above a stray fork, left on the floor from an earlier attack; it sat motionless until the magnet was about a foot away, snapped up and stuck with a quiet _clink_. She tugged it off with some effort and tossed the fork away. "I'll need to get it close enough to stick."

Just then, a shadow passed over their heads; Zahra was in the air again.

They snapped into ready stances.

"You _had_ to make it personal." Zahra raised her hands, holding her plates out flat and facing skyward.

Every fork, knife, and dish lying scattered on the floor began to shudder, filling the room with a thunderous clatter. They rose into the air and began to whirl, forming a tornado of silver around her.

Ladybug felt the dread in her stomach. "Cat!"

"The tables!" he yelled. They leapt into the table fort as Zahra waved like a conductor, sending metal flying in every direction. Dishes pounded against their barricade, sinking so deep into the wood metal tips poked through the other side. The guests huddled behind them, flinching at each impact. Then, gradually, the sound of _thuds_ and crashes died off, and the hall was dead silent.

Ladybug and Cat exchanged a look.

"On three?"

"Three."

Ladybug counted, her voice low. Then they burst from the shelter, baton and yoyo ready. They took in the massacre at a glance: every surface had a silver something embedded in it—most had two or three somethings.

The damage was _catastrophic_ , Ladybug thought. Then she cringed and looked at Cat, half-expecting him to sense the pun.

He was staring at the far end of the room, at the stage and the curtains around it. The curtains she and Adrien had hidden behind.

Ladybug felt a flash of terror— how had she forgottenAdrien was here?—but his side was miraculously untouched. She exhaled shakily, thanking every scrap of luck she had.

But the other curtain was _shredded_.

"Marinette!"

She jumped.

Cat had a face like his heart was torn in two. "She was behind there!" he told Ladybug. "And now it's—she—"

It was déjà vu in the worst way.

She grabbed Cat by the shoulders and squeezed. "Marinette is fine. She's not even there, see?"

"But where is she?"

Oh. "I—saw her run out?" Ladybug tried. The lie sounded hollow, even to her.

Cat shook his head. "There's nowhere to run!" He stepped back, jerking out of her hold. "We have to go look for her—"

"No!" She couldn't do this again. "I have four minutes before I turn back, Cat." She caught his gaze with hers and refused to look away. "Everything'll be fine once we purify this akuma, and I can't do it alone. Please."

Cat's mouth pulled tight, and she braced herself—but he stopped arguing. "Do you have a plan?"

Relief turned her knees to jelly. "I'll take care of the magnet part, but I need you to Cataclysm the tray first. Otherwise we won't be able to break it."

"Got it," he mumbled. He glanced around for the girl in silver and broke into a sprint.

Then he slipped on a _stupid_ tablecloth.

"Cat—"

"I've _got_ it." He scrambled to his feet.

"Cat, behind you!"

Cat spun around, baton already out. He swung it with both hands, like a baseball bat, and both silver plates fell out of the air—dented beyond repair. They hit the floor and stayed there.

She exhaled in a rush. " _Nice_."

Cat almost smiled. Then he looked up, searching for his next target. "Let's end this."

"Wait!" Zahra's tray swerved and descended, stopping in the air right in front of Cat. "You were talking about Marinette? I can tell you what happened to her."

"What?" said Cat.

" _What_?" said Ladybug.

She forced herself to relax. No one knew Ladybug's secret identity—right?

"She was the one in the pretty suit." Zahra spoke quickly. "I remember her."

Ladybug shifted on her feet. "We're not interested in anything you have to say. Right, Cat?"

He didn't respond.

"I think your kitty's interested," Zahra said.

"He's not." But Cat still said nothing.

Zahra smiled. "If you say so. But it's a shame, what happened to that girl."

Cat _hissed_. "What did you do?" His eyes burned like green fire.

"Don't get me wrong—I had nothing against her! Some people just get caught in the crossfire." She shrugged. "I was aiming somewhere else, but..." She drew a slash across her stomach with her finger.

Cat's face went utterly blank.

She'd never seen him like this before.

"Cat, come on. She's making this up." Ladybug stepped forward, ready to march over and shake sense into him.

A line of knives hit the ground at her feet. "Stay where you are," Zahra told her.

Ladybug glared. "I know you're lying."

"Prove it, Bug." She turned to Cat. "At first she almost looked surprised. Seeing all that red on her shirt. Then the pain finally hit, and she just… dropped."

Cat's grip on his baton tightened.

"She's lying, Cat!" Ladybug yelled. Her fists clenched. "Trust me!"

That wrenched his gaze away. "I do," he said. " I just—" His voice cracked and fell to a whisper. "I can't get it out of my _head_."

She hated seeing him like this—but she couldn't save him from his thoughts, because _she had no proof_.

Unless.

Fear gripped her throat as the idea formed. She couldn't. It would change everything. Her logical side screamed about strategy, duty, _consequences_ —

"Marinette was all alone, hurt, and no one helped her. You didn't help." Zahra's voice was soft. "Imagine how scared she felt."

The baton fell from Cat's hands and hit the ground with a _thunk_.

Screw the consequences.

"Cat." Ladybug took a breath. She felt calm, somehow—like she'd gone so deep into anger and fear she'd come out on the other side.

She took her yoyo in one hand, magnet in her other, and knotted the end of the yoyo's string around it. Then she pulled, yoyo spinning in her palm as she unwound it.

"What are you doing?" Zahra said.

Ladybug ignored her. "Cat," she said again; he lifted his head, eyes unseeing. "Look. You said you trust me—and I trust you, too. So…" She took a shuddering breath. "Remember when I dumped a watering can on your head?"

Her partner blinked. "You—what?"

Zahra frowned, glancing between the two.

"You gave me a doorstop. I gave you a blanket. We talked and argued and fought and laughed. And I'm glad you kept coming around, Cat, because even when we don't do anything, your visits are the best part of my day."

She'd never seen him make this face either.

She thought she might be shaking, but refused to let it stop her. "I guess what I'm saying is—Marinette's fine. _Trust_ me." She tried a smile, though it wobbled at the edges. "Can we finish this fight already?"

In answer, Cat started running. He launched himself into the air, claws out.

"What—?" Zahra said.

" _Cataclysm_!"

Rust red spread across the metal. Cat snagged the edge with one hand on his way down, flipping the tray over. He and Zahra plummeted to the ground.

Ladybug threw the magnet across the room, wincing as her wounded arm protested. The magnet hit the tray with a _clank_ and stuck, string trailing from it like fishing line.

Cat had Zahra grappled on the floor. He pinned down her arms; she aimed a kick at his gut.

Ladybug reeled in the tray with quick, careful tugs. Then she grabbed it with both hands and smashed it on the ground.

Her earrings beeped—time was almost up.

The akuma fluttered out almost lazily; she snapped it up in her yoyo and washed the evil from its wings. Without wasting a second, she tossed the magnet high and called, "Miraculous Ladybug!"

The air exploded with pink light.

Glass and food was swept from the floor. Tables righted themselves. All around the room things sprang back together, transforming the battlefield into a glittering party.

The few guests who'd been hiding laughed and cheered.

Gingerly, Ladybug stretched out her arm. She knew it was healed, but still felt a phantom twinge; her brain needed a second to process that the wounds were magically gone. Everything was back to normal.

Except it wasn't.

Cat sat next to a now-normal Zahra, who was clutching her head with equal parts confusion and horror. He looked up and met Ladybug's eyes.

It was time for her to face the consequences.

Ladybug turned and fled.


End file.
